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Freedom or Bondage: The True Nature of Free Will According to Christianity

The Irony of Free Will: A Christian X-Ray of Western, Eastern, and Arminian Faith Perspectives

In a world captivated by the allure of individual autonomy, the concept of free will reigns supreme. Yet, the very freedom so prized by Western secularism and Eastern philosophies alike is, ironically, a deep and deceptive bondage—one that only the truth of Christianity can expose. As modern culture, driven by self-determination, pridefully exalts the sovereignty of the self, and as Arminians within the Christian fold misconstrue biblical doctrine, the question arises: Are we truly free? Or is it only through Christ, as revealed by Calvin and Scripture, that humanity can be liberated from the chains of its own illusions?

Today, freedom of choice, independence of will, and self-determination have become the defining marks of our modern world. In a society dominated by secular values, these concepts have not only shaped the cultural landscape but have been elevated to near-sacred status. To be free, according to modern Western secularism, means to be untethered from all external authority, to live autonomously, and to determine one’s own destiny. This notion of personal sovereignty resonates deeply with our desires and offers a seductive image of self-sufficient human flourishing. But beneath this façade lies a deeper truth that Christianity reveals: true freedom is not found in autonomy but in submission to God’s sovereignty, and bondage is the natural state of the human will without God’s redeeming grace.

As followers of Christ, we are called to ask a deeper question: Are we truly free? And if so, what is the nature of this freedom? Is freedom simply the ability to make choices, or is it something more profound—a restoration of the soul to its right relationship with God?

This question is not merely theoretical. It touches the heart of what it means to be human and what it means to be redeemed. Throughout history, the Christian faith has answered this question with clarity and conviction: without God's grace, human beings are enslaved by sin. True freedom—the ability to choose good and to serve God—comes not from self-determination but from God's saving work in Christ.

Yet, this biblical truth is constantly challenged by both secular and Eastern philosophies. Western secularism, as represented by thinkers like Susan Wolf, posits that freedom lies in the rational autonomy of the individual, while Buddhism, as presented by Jay Garfield, denies the self altogether, claiming that freedom comes through transcending the very notion of selfhood.

In this article, we will examine the Christian understanding of free will as laid out in Scripture and the works of John Calvin, contrasting it with both Western secularism and Buddhism. Along the way, we will see why the Arminian interpretation of free will falls short of the biblical data, and why Calvinism—which is simply the faithful exposition of Scripture—provides the only coherent and truthful resolution to the problem of human will. More importantly, we will show why Christianity offers the only hope for true freedom—the freedom that comes not through human effort but through God's sovereign grace.

The False Freedom of Western Secularism

The modern Western world exalts the idea of individual autonomy. In this worldview, freedom means the ability to pursue one’s desires, define one’s identity, and live without the imposition of external moral authority. The deep self theory, championed by Susan Wolf, embodies this view. According to Wolf, we are truly free when our actions are aligned with our most rational and deeply considered desires. In other words, freedom is found when the deep self—the rational core of who we are—acts in accordance with what it judges to be good.

For Wolf, the key to moral responsibility lies in sanity. A person is morally responsible, she argues, when they are sane enough to reflect on their actions and desires and align them with their deepest values. This version of freedom emphasizes self-correction and rational autonomy. In the Western secular mindset, reason is seen as the liberating force that allows us to transcend our baser instincts and choose the good.

But here lies the fatal flaw of secular thought: it overlooks the fundamental spiritual enslavement of the human will. While Wolf and the secular world assume that human reason is capable of guiding us toward freedom, Christianity reveals that human reason itself is corrupted by sin. Rationality alone cannot free us from the bondage of our fallen nature. As the Apostle Paul says in Romans 7:18-19:

"For I know that good itself does not dwell in me, that is, in my sinful nature. For I have the desire to do what is good, but I cannot carry it out. For I do not do the good I want to do, but the evil I do not want to do—this I keep on doing."

Wolf’s theory, grounded in human autonomy, cannot account for this spiritual reality. It assumes that sanity and rational reflection are sufficient to lead us toward the good. But Christianity teaches that without God’s grace, even our most rational desires are tainted by sin. Our wills are not merely weakened by sin—they are enslaved to it. As Calvin explains in his Institutes:

“Man, by his fall, was deprived of this freedom of will, and instead of the self-command which he enjoyed, was reduced to a state of miserable bondage.” (Book II, Chapter 2, Section 5, p. 259)

In other words, our freedom is an illusion. We might act on our rational desires, but those desires themselves are bent toward sin. No amount of self-reflection can untangle the spiritual enslavement of the will. This is why Christianity insists that true freedom is not found in rational autonomy but in spiritual redemption. Without the regenerating power of the Holy Spirit, human beings are incapable of choosing good. The secular pursuit of freedom, rooted in the exaltation of the self, is ultimately a false freedom—a freedom that leads not to liberation but to deeper bondage.

The Illusion of Non-Self in Buddhism

On the other side of the spectrum lies Buddhism, which presents an entirely different challenge to the Christian understanding of free will. Whereas Western secularism exalts the self, Buddhism denies the self altogether. In Jay Garfield’s articulation of Mādhyamaka Buddhism, the self is not an independent entity but an illusion, a construct that arises from the dependent origination of various causes and conditions.

In Buddhist thought, what we perceive as free will is nothing more than the product of an intricate web of causality. There is no autonomous self making choices; instead, our thoughts, actions, and desires are shaped by the chain of events that precede them. The goal of Buddhism, therefore, is not to assert the autonomy of the self but to transcend it. Freedom, in the Buddhist view, is found in the realization that the self does not exist. Once we accept this, we can free ourselves from the illusion of choice and the attachment to desires.

But here too, Christianity stands in stark contrast. Far from denying the self, Christianity affirms that the self is real, valuable, and created by God for the purpose of relationship with Him. The problem, according to Scripture, is not that the self is an illusion, but that the self is fallen. The self is bound by sin and in need of redemption.

Where Buddhism calls us to dissolve the self, Christianity calls us to restore the self through the redeeming power of Christ. The Buddhist path may promise relief from suffering through the rejection of desire, but Christianity offers a far greater hope: freedom from the bondage of sin and the restoration of our will to its rightful place through the grace of God. As Jesus said in John 8:36:

“So if the Son sets you free, you will be free indeed.”

This is not the freedom that comes from denying the self but from having the self restored to its proper relationship with God. The Buddhist view of free will ultimately fails because it misunderstands the nature of the self and human responsibility. The self is not an illusion, and human actions have real moral consequences. Christianity teaches that we are created in the image of God, endowed with the capacity for moral responsibility, and called to live in relationship with our Creator. The problem is not that we need to escape the self, but that we need to redeem it.

True Freedom in Christ

Both Western secularism and Buddhism fall short because they misunderstand the true nature of free will and human responsibility. Wolf's deep self theory suggests that humans can reason their way to freedom, but Christianity reveals that without God's grace, the will is bound by sin. Buddhism, by denying the self, misses the profound truth that we are real beings, created by God, and are truly responsible for our actions.

Christianity presents a more profound and complete understanding of the human condition: we are responsible for our actions because we are made in the image of God, yet our wills are enslaved to sin and cannot be freed by any effort of our own. As Paul says in Romans 8:7-8:

“The mind governed by the flesh is hostile to God; it does not submit to God’s law, nor can it do so. Those who are in the realm of the flesh cannot please God.”

Only through the sovereign grace of God can our wills be truly liberated. True freedom is found not in autonomy or the rejection of the self but in submission to God's sovereignty and the freedom to serve Him.

In this sense, Christianity presents not just an explanation for the human condition, but the only real hope for true freedom. Our wills, though enslaved by sin, are not beyond redemption. Through the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ, we are set free—not only from the penalty of sin but also from its power over our lives.

Freedom Within the Faith

While Western secularism and Eastern philosophies offer external challenges to the Christian understanding of free will, an internal debate has long raged within the Christian Church itself. This debate centres on how to interpret the biblical data concerning human responsibility and God's sovereignty. The Arminian perspective, which emphasizes human free will to choose or reject salvation, stands in stark contrast to the Calvinist (and thus Christian) understanding of human depravity and divine grace.

Arminianism suggests that while human beings are weakened by sin, they still retain enough freedom to choose salvation. In this view, God’s grace is resistible, meaning that humans have the final say in their own redemption. But this interpretation fails to grasp the full depth of human depravity, as presented in Scripture, and undermines the sovereign nature of God’s grace.

The Calvinist position, by contrast, asserts that man is spiritually dead in his sins (Ephesians 2:1) and completely incapable of choosing God without divine intervention. Free will, as imagined by Arminians, does not exist in the ultimate sense because the human will is enslaved to sin. Paul is explicit about this in Romans 8:7:

"The mind governed by the flesh is hostile to God; it does not submit to God’s law, nor can it do so."

Calvin addresses this very issue with great clarity in his Institutes of the Christian Religion. He explains that, while human beings have desires and make choices, their will is utterly bound by sin and cannot choose the good of its own volition:

“Man had received the power if he had the will, but he had not the will, which would have given the power.” (Book I, Chapter 15, Section 8, p. 191)

This statement underscores a crucial theological point: free will, as Arminians conceive it—a completely autonomous will that can choose either good or evil without divine intervention—is a myth. The will, though active, is corrupted by sin and can only be freed by God's grace. Therefore, any choice for God must be the result of God’s prior work in the heart.

Arminians, by positing that man can choose God of his own free will, diminish the role of God’s sovereignty and overlook the clear biblical teaching that salvation is entirely a work of God. As Jesus emphatically states in John 6:44:

"No one can come to me unless the Father who sent me draws them."

This passage refutes the idea that humans can make the first move toward God. It is God’s sovereign act of drawing individuals to Himself that initiates the process of salvation, not human decision-making. This is why Calvinism—which is simply the most faithful exposition of Scripture—insists that salvation is by grace alone, through faith alone, in Christ alone, and not through human choice. Paul underscores this truth in Ephesians 2:8-9:

"For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith—and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God—not by works, so that no one can boast."

The Arminian insistence on preserving human free will, despite its well-meaning intention, ultimately undermines the sovereignty of God and introduces a semi-Pelagian view that dangerously places human will above God’s will. In this perspective, man becomes the ultimate decider of his salvation, which is contrary to the full biblical teaching that salvation is entirely God's work from beginning to end.

Calvinism, on the other hand, maintains the biblical tension between God’s sovereignty and human responsibility without compromising either. Man is indeed responsible for his actions, but his ability to choose God comes solely through divine grace. As Calvin writes:

"Man had received the power if he had the will, but he had not the will, which would have given the power to continue in righteousness. Adam was free to choose good or evil, but his will was not sovereign. God, in His providence, permitted the fall for reasons that remain hidden in His counsel." (Book I, Chapter 15, Section 8)

This demonstrates that any ability to choose God is not a product of human effort or decision, but entirely of God’s sovereign grace. Arminianism falls short in its failure to account for the totality of human depravity, while Calvinism upholds both the reality of human moral responsibility and the necessity of divine intervention for true freedom.

Human Responsibility and God’s Sovereignty

One of the greatest tensions in Christian theology is the relationship between God’s sovereignty and human responsibility. Scripture consistently teaches both that God is sovereign over all things and that human beings are morally responsible for their choices. This raises an apparent contradiction: how can humans be held accountable for their actions if God ordains all that occurs?

The resolution to this dilemma lies in understanding the distinction between human desire and outcomes. Calvin’s theology, deeply rooted in Scripture, demonstrates that while humans retain freedom at the level of desire, this freedom is enslaved to sin due to the Fall. As Paul explains in Romans 7:19, “For I do not do the good I want to do, but the evil I do not want to do—this I keep on doing.” Here, Paul captures the essence of the fallen will: we continue to desire evil voluntarily, even though we are fully aware of the good.

Calvin affirms that human beings have a real will, but this will is bound by sin, a result of humanity’s fallen nature. He writes, “Man had received the power if he had the will, but he had not the will, which would have given the power to continue in righteousness.” (Book I, Chapter 15, Section 8) This highlights that while humans are free in the sense that they act out their desires, those desires are so corrupted by sin that they cannot will what is good.

Yet, it is on the level of outcomes where God’s sovereignty reigns supreme. While humans plan and act according to their sinful desires, God, in His providence, directs the actual outcomes. As Proverbs 16:9 puts it, “In their hearts humans plan their course, but the Lord establishes their steps.” Similarly, Proverbs 19:21 states, “Many are the plans in a person's heart, but it is the Lord’s purpose that prevails.” These verses affirm that while people may plot and pursue their own ways, it is ultimately God who sovereignly orders the course of history.

Calvin also addresses this in his Institutes, where he explains that God’s providence governs all events, but human responsibility remains intact. He writes, “The will of God is said to be the cause of all things that happen. But is man, on this account, to be excused, because he cannot be exempted from the divine predestination, or because he is under the influence of God’s providence? Not at all; for the arrangement of divine providence is such that the instrumentality of man, in respect of his voluntary actions, is not less than in regard to those actions which are said to be contingent.” (Book I, Chapter 16, Section 2, p. 207) This statement underlines that, although God’s will controls all things, humans still act freely and voluntarily, even when their choices are sinful.

This interplay between human desire and divine sovereignty is perhaps most profoundly demonstrated in the crucifixion of Christ. Human agents acted with wicked intent, yet their actions fulfilled God’s preordained plan for redemption. Acts 2:23 explains, “This man was handed over to you by God’s deliberate plan and foreknowledge; and you, with the help of wicked men, put him to death by nailing him to the cross.” This verse illustrates the paradox of divine sovereignty and human responsibility: while the men who crucified Christ acted of their own will, their actions ultimately fulfilled God’s plan of salvation.

Thus, Calvinism affirms that God’s sovereignty does not negate human responsibility; rather, it affirms that every human action fits within His divine, providential plan. While people are morally responsible for their voluntary choices, the outcomes of those actions are under God’s sovereign control. This dual reality allows for both human accountability and divine sovereignty without contradiction.

God's Sovereign Use of Evil for His Good Purposes

The Christian understanding of God’s sovereignty includes the profound truth that God can use evil to accomplish His good purposes without being the author of evil. While human beings and secondary agents act with evil intent, God permits and directs these actions in such a way that they ultimately fulfil His divine will. This concept is beautifully encapsulated in Genesis 50:20, where Joseph says to his brothers, “You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good to accomplish what is now being done, the saving of many lives.” Even the wickedness of Joseph’s brothers was used by God for a greater redemptive purpose, demonstrating His ability to overrule evil.

As J.I. Packer explains, “He orders and controls all things, human actions among them, in accordance with His eternal purpose.” This includes the actions of evil agents, which God sovereignly orchestrates to bring about His righteous ends, though He Himself remains untainted by the evil. Calvin emphasizes this in his Institutes, writing, “God is not the author of sin, and yet by his providence he so overrules all the events of life, that nothing happens without his permission. Not only so: but what happens through the will of man, or in consequence of human deliberation, is governed by his secret counsel, in such a way that it does not happen without his direction.” (Book I, Chapter 16, Section 6, p. 213)

A key distinction in the Christian understanding of providence is that while God is directly responsible for all that is good, His involvement with evil is indirect. James 1:17 affirms this truth: “Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows.” God stands directly behind every good thing in the world, as the source of all good. Yet, in the same letter, James distances God from being the direct cause of evil, explaining: “When tempted, no one should say, ‘God is tempting me.’ For God cannot be tempted by evil, nor does he tempt anyone. But each person is tempted when they are dragged away by their own evil desire and enticed.” (James 1:13-14). This shows that God does not directly inspire evil, but allows it to occur within the realm of human and spiritual rebellion.

D.A. Carson, in his work How Long, O Lord?, articulates this as the asymmetry of God’s sovereignty. Carson explains that while God controls all things, He is not symmetrically involved in both good and evil. God directly causes good—this can be attributed to His Holy Spirit, His direct actions in the world, and His nature. However, God uses evil indirectly, allowing it within His providential plan while remaining untainted by it. Evil actions stem from secondary agents—whether human sinful desires or demonic influences—and God permits these actions but overrules them for His own good purposes.

This asymmetry is crucial to understanding how God can be sovereign over all things while maintaining His holiness and purity. While He is behind all events, good is directly attributable to God through His Spirit, whereas evil is attributable to secondary agents, such as humans or spiritual forces like demons or Satan, though still under God's ultimate control.

Thus, God sovereignly uses evil to achieve good, but He remains untouched by evil’s corruption. This is the heart of divine providence: God overrules all things, even the sinful acts of human beings and evil agents, to bring about His perfect and righteous will. He is the direct cause of all good, while He permits and overrides evil to serve His redemptive purposes.

Christ as the Climax of Sovereignty and Freedom

The ultimate resolution to the problem of free will and God’s sovereignty is found in Jesus Christ. His crucifixion is the most climactic example of God using human wickedness to fulfil His divine purposes. At the cross, we see human will operating in its most depraved form—the rejection and rebellion against the Son of God—while at the same time, God’s sovereign grace is at work, bringing about the redemption of the world.

Acts 2:22-23 makes this tension abundantly clear: “This man was handed over to you by God’s deliberate plan and foreknowledge; and you, with the help of wicked men, put him to death by nailing him to the cross.” Here, we see that human evil, expressed in the crucifixion of Jesus, was fully a part of God’s sovereign plan, predetermined by His foreknowledge. Evil men—Herod, Pontius Pilate, the Gentiles, and the people of Israel—acted of their own wicked desires to crucify Christ, but God’s sovereign hand was at work, using their very rebellion to bring about redemption.

This is not an isolated proof text. The entire biblical narrative is at pains to demonstrate that the suffering of Christ, though caused by human sin, was also God’s sovereign will. This is reinforced in Acts 4:26-28, where the early church prays: “The kings of the earth rise up and the rulers band together against the Lord and against his anointed one. Indeed Herod and Pontius Pilate met together with the Gentiles and the people of Israel in this city to conspire against your holy servant Jesus, whom you anointed. They did what your power and will had decided beforehand should happen.”

These passages echo and emphasize that both divine sovereignty and human responsibility are at work in the crucifixion. The Gentiles and the Jews—acting out of wicked motives—gathered against Jesus, but they only did what God’s hand and purpose had determined beforehand. Their rebellion was real and culpable, but it was also within the bounds of God’s sovereign decree.

This is not a new concept. Isaiah 53, written centuries before, prophesied that the suffering of Christ would both be caused by human sin and ordained by God. Isaiah 53:3 says, “He was despised and rejected by mankind,” and Isaiah 53:7 says, “He was oppressed and afflicted.” These verses attribute the direct cause of Christ’s suffering to human agents—people who rejected, oppressed, and afflicted Him. Yet, Isaiah 53:10 reveals that this suffering was also the Lord’s will: “Yet it was the Lord’s will to crush him and cause him to suffer.”

The suffering of Christ was both the Lord’s will and the result of human sin. This dual reality is the heart of the biblical narrative. Luke 11 reinforces this by explaining that “the Christ must suffer,” but that suffering was always under the sovereign control of God. The cross was no accident; it was part of God’s eternal plan for the salvation of His people, even as human sin played an active role in carrying it out.

In Christ, the paradox of human freedom and God’s sovereignty finds its perfect resolution. The crucifixion is the ultimate display of human sin and divine grace working together to bring about the redemption of the world. While human agents—Herod, Pilate, the Gentiles, and the Jews—acted out of their own evil desires, they only did what God had foreordained. In this way, Christ’s death is not just the result of human wickedness, but also the fulfilment of God’s redemptive will.

In Christ, we are set free from the bondage of sin, but this freedom is not for the sake of autonomy or self-rule. It is the freedom to serve God in righteousness. As Paul exclaims in Romans 11:33-36:

“Oh, the depth of the riches of the wisdom and knowledge of God! How unsearchable his judgments, and his paths beyond tracing out! ‘Who has known the mind of the Lord? Or who has been his counsellor?’ Who has ever given to God, that God should repay them? For from him and through him and for him are all things. To him be the glory forever! Amen.”

The Irony of Free Will: Why Christianity Makes Better Sense of the World

The Christian doctrine of free will not only explains the paradox of the human condition but also reveals a profound irony: human autonomy, the Western secular ideal of independence and self-determination, leads not to freedom but to slavery and death. This same irony exists in the Eastern perspective of detachment, where the denial of the self leads to a rejection of the very image of God in which we are created. Arminian Christianity, in its attempt to preserve free will, similarly misinterprets the human will by underestimating the depth of sin’s bondage and overestimating human power to choose God. But it is Christianity—properly understood—that offers the only satisfying solution to this dilemma by revealing that true freedom comes only through submission to Christ.

In the secular vision, freedom is defined as independence—the right to live according to our desires, to pursue our own path, and to construct our own identity. But Scripture shows that this kind of freedom is an illusion, because it ignores the reality that the will is enslaved to sin. When we act in supposed autonomy, we are in fact enslaved to our sinful nature. As Paul writes in Romans 6:16, “Don’t you know that when you offer yourselves to someone as obedient slaves, you are slaves of the one you obey—whether you are slaves to sin, which leads to death, or to obedience, which leads to righteousness?” Our autonomy is, in truth, nothing more than slavery to sin, leading ultimately to death.

The Eastern rejection of the self as an illusion only deepens this irony, for the self is not something to be denied or dissolved, but something that must be redeemed. We are real beings, made in the image of God, but our will is broken. Rather than detaching from ourselves, Christianity calls us to restore our true selves through the transformative power of Christ. Freedom, therefore, is not about denying the self but about finding our true selves in Christ.

Similarly, the Arminian insistence on free will misreads the human condition. While Arminianism seeks to preserve a sense of human agency, it fails to grasp that true freedom cannot be a matter of human choice alone. The will is enslaved to sin, and we do not have the power to choose God unless God first chooses us. In striving for freedom, Arminianism ironically underestimates human sin and places too much weight on human effort.

Here lies the ultimate paradox and irony of the Christian gospel: it is only by surrendering our independence to Christ—by becoming His slaves, belonging to Him as His possession—that we are truly set free. Human subordination to Christ, which the world views as slavery, actually leads to freedom. In Christ, we are freed not only from the penalty of sin but from slavery to sin itself. As Paul writes in Galatians 5:1, “It is for freedom that Christ has set us free. Stand firm, then, and do not let yourselves be burdened again by a yoke of slavery.”

The Christian message is not about autonomy or independence but about freedom through dependence on God. It is about acknowledging that we cannot save ourselves, and that true freedom comes only through God’s grace. In Christ, our bondage to sin is broken, and we are free to live in righteousness.

This is why Christianity makes sense of the world. It offers the only coherent and satisfying explanation of our experience: we are created by God, we are responsible for our actions, and yet, apart from Christ, our will is enslaved to sin. True freedom, however, is found in submission to God’s will, through grace alone, and in Christ alone.

The irony is profound: we gain true freedom not by claiming independence, but by submitting ourselves fully to Christ. It is only through Him that we can be freed from the bondage of sin and restored to the freedom we were created for.

As Jesus said in John 8:36, “If the Son sets you free, you will be free indeed.” This is the freedom we were made for—not autonomy, but joyful submission to the Lord of life. The paradox of free will is thus resolved in the person and work of Christ, and through Him, we find the true freedom we so desperately seek.


Further Reading: Extended Quotes from Calvin

For those interested in a deeper dive into Calvin's teachings on free will and human responsibility, here are key excerpts from his Institutes of the Christian Religion, with full-length quotes and page numbers based on the John T. McNeill edition.

These extended quotes provide essential insight into Calvin's understanding of human will and God’s sovereignty. By recognizing the depth of human depravity and the necessity of divine grace, Calvin's theology highlights both our responsibility and God’s providential control over all events, demonstrating the biblical balance between these two truths.

Book I, Chapter 15, Section 8 (p. 191):

“Man, at his creation, received the power if he had the will; but he had not the will, which would have given the power to continue in righteousness. Adam was free to choose good or evil, but his will was not sovereign. God, in His providence, permitted the fall for reasons that remain hidden in His counsel. For our will is not forced, so as to be reluctant, but we are of our own will inclined to evil. But it does not follow that we are free, because of necessity the servitude of sin and bondage to corruption are properly parts of our nature, which we cannot escape unless God rescues us by His grace. Therefore, in this sense, man had freedom of will, because if he had had the will, he would also have had the power to choose good; but having lost the will, he has also lost the power."

This demonstrates that while Adam was created with the capacity for free will (desire and choice), it was not an absolute sovereignty over his fate. God’s sovereignty remained paramount, and the allowance of the Fall is attributed to God's mysterious will, which Calvin argues is beyond human comprehension. Adam’s will was free, but it was not perseverant, and this lack of perseverance was not a defect in God's creation but part of His greater plan, the reasons for which are hidden in divine mystery.

This quote also demonstrates that while humanity was initially created with the power to choose good, the Fall resulted in a loss of both the will and the ability to continue in righteousness. Calvin argues that human will is inclined to evil by its own nature, and true freedom can only be restored through God's grace, as sin has enslaved human nature. Thus, while humans are responsible for their choices, they are incapable of choosing good without divine intervention.

(Institutes of the Christian Religion, Book I, Chapter 15, Section 8, p. 191)

Book I, Chapter 16, Section 2 (p. 207):

"The will of God is said to be the cause of all things that happen. But is man, on this account, to be excused, because he cannot be exempted from the divine predestination, or because he is under the influence of God’s providence? Not at all; for the arrangement of divine providence is such that the instrumentality of man, in respect of his voluntary actions, is not less than in regard to those actions which are said to be contingent."

Calvin here underscores that God’s providence directs all events without negating human responsibility. Humanity is not absolved from accountability simply because their actions are part of God’s eternal decree.
(Institutes of the Christian Religion, Book I, Chapter 16, Section 2, p. 207)

Book I, Chapter 16, Section 6 (p. 213):

"God is not the author of sin, and yet by his providence he so overrules all the events of life, that nothing happens without his permission. Not only so: but what happens through the will of man, or in consequence of human deliberation, is governed by his secret counsel, in such a way that it does not happen without his direction."

In this passage, Calvin balances God’s providential rule with human freedom, clarifying that while God permits sin, He is not its author.
(Institutes of the Christian Religion, Book I, Chapter 16, Section 6, p. 213)

Book I, Chapter 18, Section 1 (p. 233):

"They sin, therefore, with their own evil disposition, and by their own will. But as God, in his righteous judgment, turns all evil actions of men to good, he is said to perform his work by their means."

This reinforces the idea that God allows human sin but uses even evil acts to accomplish His purposes. This is the principle of concurrence—human actions, while sinful, are within God’s sovereign control and are directed to His ultimate plan.
(Institutes of the Christian Religion, Book I, Chapter 18, Section 1, p. 233)

Book II, Chapter 2, Section 5 (p. 259):

"Man, by his fall, was deprived of this freedom of will, and instead of the self-command which he enjoyed, was reduced to a state of miserable bondage. This is not a bondage which compels him by external force to sin, but a bondage which is the result of the corruption of his heart, so that he cannot move or act but in the direction of evil."

This quote demonstrates Calvin's doctrine of total depravity—human beings, after the Fall, are not only weakened by sin but are in bondage to it, leaving them unable to act in any way that pleases God without divine grace.
(Institutes of the Christian Religion, Book II, Chapter 2, Section 5, p. 259)

Book II, Chapter 2, Section 8 (p. 262):

"If any man were to maintain that man is still able to choose good, I would deny it; but that he is unwilling to do good I allow: though in a way not opposed to the view that he has no power, because if he had the will, he would also have the power. However, now that man’s will is bound to sin, he cannot will what is good. That is why he needs to be regenerated, for until the will is corrected by grace, it only wants and chooses evil."

Here Calvin clarifies that while humans retain the ability to will, they lack the desire for good without divine regeneration. Man is free in one sense, but his will is entirely bound by sin, illustrating the need for grace.
(Institutes of the Christian Religion, Book II, Chapter 2, Section 8, p. 262)


Bibliography

Calvin, John. Institutes of the Christian Religion, Volume I. Translated by Ford Lewis Battles. Edited by John T. McNeill. Westminster John Knox Press, 1960.

Carson, D.A. How Long, O Lord? Reflections on Suffering and Evil. Baker Academic, 2006.

Frankfurt, Harry. “Freedom of the Will and the Concept of a Person.” Journal of Philosophy, 1979, pp. 5–20.

Garfield, Jay L. “Just Another Word for Nothing Left to Lose: Freedom, Agency, and Ethics for Mādhyamikas.” In Free Will, Agency, and Selfhood in Indian Philosophy, edited by Matthew R. Dasti and Edwin F. Bryant. Oxford University Press, 2014.

Grudem, Wayne. Systematic Theology: An Introduction to Biblical Doctrine, 2nd ed. Zondervan, 1994.

Packer, J. I. Evangelism and the Sovereignty of God. IVP Books, 2012.

Schoeman, Ferdinand, and Susan Wolf. “Sanity and the Metaphysics of Responsibility.” In Responsibility, Character, and the Emotions, edited by Schoeman. Cambridge University Press, 1987, pp. 46–62.

The Holy Bible, New International Version. Zondervan Publishing House, 2011.

Towns, Elijah. "Do We Have Free Will?" HPH105 Essay, University of Tasmania, 2024.

Special Thanks

I'm gratefully indebted to my son, Elijah Towns, for his significant contributions to this article through his foundational work on his essay. His deep engagement with the free will debate has been instrumental in shaping this article. Portions of his original academic paper have been adapted and expanded for this blog post, providing rich insight into the philosophical and theological perspectives discussed here, particularly his research into Susan Wolf’s work on secular morality and Jay Garfield’s interpretations of Mādhyamaka philosophy.

Acknowledgements

I've used ChatGPT to assist in creating and editing this article; however, all insights, arguments, and original content presented here are wholly my own.

From Groaning to Glory: Silence, Longing, and the Unfolding Mystery of God

Reflecting on Helen Keller, Romans 8, 1 Corinthians 13, Eric Varden, and the Work of the Spirit


In Reformed evangelical circles, we live and breathe words. We thrive on preaching, propositional revelation, doctrine, and theology. But if we’re honest, there’s often a gap—an unspoken tension between our love of words and our struggle with prayer, silence, and emotional depth. We’re good at speaking and teaching, yet light on prayer, silence, and contemplation. As a society, and particularly in our Presbyterian traditions, we don’t handle aloneness well. We don’t do silence well. Yet, the truth is, God often speaks loudest in the silence, in the places where words fail and all that’s left is the deep groaning of our hearts.

Lately, I’ve found myself reflecting on these things, especially through insights drawn from BioLogos’ episode on Helen Keller and Eric Varden’s The Shattering of Loneliness, a book we’ve explored in our ‘Deeper Conversations’ group at St. George’s Anglican in Battery Point. These reflections have connected powerfully with my own journey of prayer and silence, where I’ve lived through seasons of deep trauma, grief, and post-traumatic stress, unable to pray in any conventional sense. But the Scriptures offer hope here—especially Romans 8:26-30 and 1 Corinthians 13:9-12—which remind us that even when our words fail, the Spirit intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words. In that intercession, we find a truth that transcends our limited knowledge and points us toward the fullness of God’s revelation to come.


The Spirit's Groaning: When Words Fail in Prayer

Romans 8:26-30 touches on something profound, something deeply resonant in the human experience of prayer: “And, likewise also, the Spirit helps our weaknesses; for what we might pray for, as it is necessary, we have not known, but the Spirit Himself makes intercession for us with groanings unutterable.”

Paul’s words reveal a truth about our limitations, particularly in prayer. We don’t always know what to ask for, or how to pray, and often our prayers feel inadequate. But it’s here, at the very point of our weakness, that the Spirit steps in. The Spirit groans on our behalf, taking the longings of our hearts, those inexpressible desires, and transforming them into prayers that align with the will of God. This is where I find comfort—especially as I reflect on my own spiritual journey.

In the aftermath of trauma, grief, and intense psychological stress, I found myself in a place where words were not just insufficient—they were impossible. For two years, I was unable to read the Bible. I couldn’t pray in any structured or coherent way. All I could do was direct my longings to God. At first, my prayers were as simple as “God, I can’t pray.” Then, over time, they grew into “help,” followed by “Lord, you know,” “Lord, you are God,” and finally, “Lord, I am yours.” My heart was like a tight knot that no amount of effort could untangle. But as time passed, the Spirit did the work—unravelling that knot, turning my silent longings into something coherent before God.


Helen Keller: A Living Parable of Pre-Linguistic Longing

Helen Keller’s life provides a living parable for understanding the limits of human expression and the promise of something more. Before Keller learned language, she lived in a world of sensation—her experience was real, but fragmented. Without language, she was like a child, grasping at the world but unable to connect her feelings and desires to any coherent expression. This mirrors Paul’s words in 1 Corinthians 13:11: “When I was a child, I was speaking as a child, I was thinking as a child, I was reasoning as a child; and when I became a man, I have made useless the things of the child.”

Before language, Keller’s experience was much like this metaphorical childhood. She lived, felt, and longed, but she lacked the structure to make sense of it all. Language came to her like a revelation, a key that unlocked her inner world and brought her fragmented experiences into focus. This is akin to the journey of moving from general to special revelation. General revelation—the experience of God’s creation, His majesty, and His power—is beautiful, but incomplete. It’s like Keller’s pre-linguistic experience: real, but lacking full clarity. Special revelation—the Word of God, the person of Jesus Christ—provides the language to make sense of God’s nature, His will, and His plan of redemption. But even this, Paul reminds us, is still partial: “For we know in part, and we prophesy in part; and when that which is perfect may come, then that which is in part will become useless.” (1 Corinthians 13:9-10)


From Childlike Knowing to the Fullness of Revelation

Paul’s metaphor of childhood and adulthood highlights the transition we all experience as we grow in our understanding of God. Just as Keller moved from the fragmented world of pre-linguistic sensation to the clarity of language, we too move from the partial knowledge of general revelation to the deeper understanding offered by special revelation. But even this is still incomplete. Paul writes, “For we see now through a mirror obscurely, and then face to face; now I know in part, and then I will fully know, as I was also known.” (1 Corinthians 13:12)

Here, Keller’s journey becomes a powerful metaphor for our spiritual lives. Before she learned language, Keller’s experience was obscured, like seeing through a dim mirror. Language gave her clarity, but even with language, she reflected on the limits of what words could express. Likewise, even with the gift of God’s Word, we still see only in part. We grasp at the edges of God’s revelation, but we don’t yet see Him fully. We live in a world where prophecy, knowledge, and tongues—while valuable—are only temporary. They are the tools we use in the here and now, but when “the perfect” comes, when we see God face to face, these partial things will pass away.

It’s this future hope that Paul points us toward—the day when we will see clearly, when the partial will give way to the full, and when our knowledge of God will be as complete as His knowledge of us. “Now I know in part, and then I will fully know, as I was also known.” This is the ultimate promise: that one day, our fragmented understanding, our incomplete prayers, our groanings will give way to the fullness of God’s glory. We will know Him fully, just as we are already fully known by Him.


Silence, Aloneness, and the Shattering of Loneliness

This journey from partial to full knowledge, from childhood to maturity, from groaning to glory, is not just about intellectual understanding—it’s deeply tied to the emotional and spiritual journey of silence and aloneness. In The Shattering of Loneliness, Eric Varden speaks about how loneliness can become a place of encounter with God. Loneliness, silence, and aloneness are things we often avoid. We want to fill the void with noise, with words, with activity. But Varden challenges us to see that in this silence, in this aloneness, God is present. It’s in the quiet moments, in the wordless groanings of our hearts, that God meets us most intimately.

This resonates deeply with my own experience, and it’s a key theme in our ‘Deeper Conversations’ group at St. George’s Anglican. These sessions have been transformative in helping me and others confront the reality of loneliness—not as something to run from, but as a space where God’s presence can be most deeply felt. Like Keller, whose life was marked by profound silence before language, we are invited into a space where silence becomes a form of prayer, where the Spirit intercedes for us, and where our deepest longings are met by God’s loving presence.


General Revelation: Like Children in a Pre-Speech World

Before Keller learned language, her world was filled with sensation but lacked structure—a reflection of what Paul describes in 1 Corinthians 13 as knowing “in part.” This is analogous to our experience of general revelation. Creation speaks of God’s power and glory, but it doesn’t tell us everything. It’s beautiful, but incomplete. It’s like the experience of a child before they can speak—alive, aware, but unable to fully express or understand.

Special revelation, like Keller’s discovery of language, gives us the tools to understand God more deeply. Through Scripture and the person of Christ, we move from childlike understanding to maturity. But even with this, we still “see through a mirror obscurely.” Our knowledge is still in part, and we are waiting for the day when we will see God face to face, when our fragmented understanding will give way to the fullness of His glory.


Looking Forward to Wholeness: Seeing Face to Face

Paul’s reflection in 1 Corinthians 13 ultimately points us forward—to the day when the partial will be made whole when prophecy, tongues, and knowledge will pass away because we will no longer need them. We will see God face to face, and we will know Him fully, even as He has always fully known us.

This is the hope that sustains us in the silence, in the groanings of our hearts. Just as Keller moved from pre-linguistic sensation to the clarity of language, we too are moving from partial knowledge to the full revelation of God. But until that day comes, we live in the tension of knowing in part, of praying with groanings too deep for words, trusting that the Spirit is at work within us, interceding on our behalf.


Embracing Silence, Longing, and the Mystery of God

As I reflect on the journey of my own soul—through trauma, grief, silence, and wordless prayer—and on the story of Helen Keller, I am reminded that we live in the tension of the already and the not-yet. We live between general and special revelation, between childlike knowing and the fullness of God’s truth, between groaning and glory. But in this tension, the Spirit is present, interceding for us, turning our silence into prayers that reach the heart of God.

We may know in part now, but one day we will know fully. We may groan in silence now, but one day those groanings will give way to joy. Until that day, we rest in the knowledge that we are fully known by a God who loves us, who hears us, and who is making all things new.


Acknowledgements and References

In the creation of this article, I have drawn from a range of resources and personal reflections that have deeply shaped my understanding of prayer, silence, and the limits of human knowledge. To begin, I must acknowledge that both non-generative and generative AI were employed in the writing and editing of this article. These tools have provided assistance in refining the structure and language, but the content, ideas, and theological reflections are entirely my own—rooted in my personal experiences, beliefs, and studies.

Additionally, this article has been influenced by several significant works, which I want to highlight as integral to the development of these thoughts:

  1. The Bible (Literal Standard Version): All Scripture quotations are taken from the Literal Standard Version, which provides a direct and faithful rendering of the original biblical texts. Passages from Romans 8:26-30 and 1 Corinthians 13:9-12 were central to my reflections on the limits of human knowledge and the intercessory work of the Holy Spirit.

  2. BioLogos Episode on Helen Keller: The reflections on Helen Keller’s journey and the metaphorical connection to spiritual knowledge came directly from an episode by BioLogos, which explores Keller’s life through a theological and scientific lens. This episode helped me frame Keller’s experiences as a way of understanding the move from general revelation (the fragmented, pre-linguistic experience) to special revelation (the clarity brought by God’s Word).

  3. Eric Varden’s The Shattering of Loneliness: Varden’s profound work on loneliness has been a crucial resource in understanding the role of silence, aloneness, and solitude in the spiritual life. His reflections on how loneliness can be shattered by the presence of God and how silence can lead to deeper communion were instrumental, especially as discussed within the context of our 'Deeper Conversations' group at St. George’s Anglican in Battery Point.

  4. Lectio365 Devotional: Today’s devotional on Lectio365 (5 October 2024) entitled The Mind of the Spirit has also shaped my reflections. This particular episode focused on Romans 8, the Spirit’s intercession, and our struggle to find the right words in prayer. It reinforced the truth that even in our weaknesses, when we don’t know how to pray, the Spirit prays for us, and this devotional helped me further connect with the theme of wordless prayer and the groaning of the Spirit. You can access this episode here: Lectio 365 - October 5, 2024.

  5. The Literal Standard Version of the Bible: All biblical citations in this article are drawn from the LSV, known for its precision and faithfulness to the original languages, providing a clear and reliable foundation for theological reflection.


Bibliography

  • BioLogos. Helen Keller Episode. BioLogos Foundation. [Online episode].
  • Eric Varden. The Shattering of Loneliness. Bloomsbury Continuum, 2018.
  • Lectio365. The Mind of the Spirit: Devotional for 5 October 2024. 24-7 Prayer International. [Online devotional]. Available at: Lectio 365.
  • Literal Standard Version of the Bible. Covenant Press, 2020. [Scriptural references: Romans 8:26-30; 1 Corinthians 13:9-12].

These resources, alongside the personal experiences and spiritual journey I have recounted in this article, have been instrumental in shaping my reflections on the nature of prayer, silence, and the work of the Holy Spirit. I encourage readers to explore these works further as they bring invaluable insights into understanding the deeper mysteries of our relationship with God, the limitations of human knowledge, and the ongoing intercession of the Spirit.

Acknowledgements

I've used ChatGPT to assist in creating and editing this article; however, all insights, arguments, and original content presented here are wholly my own.

What Jordan Peterson Misses About the Christian Gospel: A Comprehensive Christian Critique

Jordan Peterson has emerged as a global figure, celebrated for his deep reflections on philosophy, psychology, and the human experience. His engagement with the Bible has drawn attention from both secular audiences and Christians alike, as he mines the ancient texts for moral wisdom and psychological insight. However, as insightful and compelling as Peterson’s interpretations of Scripture may be, his readings remain incomplete from a Christian perspective. Peterson’s emphasis on order, responsibility, and meaning offers much for individuals seeking stability in a chaotic world, but it falls short of the transformative power of the gospel—the redemptive work of Jesus Christ. This critique will explore Peterson’s views, the Christian response, and the profound ways in which his philosophy intersects with and diverges from biblical truth.

Personal Reflections: My Journey with Jordan Peterson

Before diving into a Christian critique of Jordan Peterson’s philosophy, it’s important to acknowledge the profound impact he has had on many, including myself and my son, Elijah. As a 19-year-old philosophy student, Elijah is captivated by Peterson’s intellectual depth and the way he addresses the deep questions of life—questions about meaning, responsibility, and navigating the complexities of the modern world. This appeal is not unique to Elijah; it resonates with many young men across the globe who are searching for clarity and a sense of purpose in an age of uncertainty.

For me, a 45-year-old with a theological and reflective bent, Peterson has also been intriguing. I’ve personally listened to his entire podcast series, over 100 episodes in total, and worked my way through his seminal work, Maps of Meaning—a 30-hour audiobook that explores the psychological underpinnings of myth, narrative, and human experience. His 12 Rules for Life further extended his ideas into a more accessible format, offering practical wisdom for self-discipline and order. And while I approach Peterson’s work as a Christian, I cannot deny his powerful influence in prompting deeper reflection on life’s big questions.

Peterson’s upcoming book, We Who Wrestle with God, is already on my reading list, and I am fascinated to see how his ideas continue to evolve. My engagement with Peterson isn’t casual; I’ve delved deeply into his material and engaged with it critically. This gives me a unique perspective as a Christian to analyze his work thoughtfully, acknowledging the intellectual depth while also recognizing the significant theological differences between Peterson’s philosophical approach and the gospel message of Jesus Christ.

My conversations with Elijah about Peterson have been rich and rewarding, reflecting not only the generational interest in Peterson’s work but also a shared desire to engage deeply with questions of meaning, purpose, and faith. And it’s through these conversations that I’ve come to see how Peterson, despite his significant contributions, ultimately falls short of the Christian understanding of truth—because while Peterson wrestles with the meaning of life, the Bible points us to the one who offers life itself.

This personal journey with Peterson informs my critique, not as someone standing at a distance but as someone who has walked through his ideas, absorbed them, and wrestled with them. I’ve read and listened to his manifesto and engaged with his vision of order and chaos, responsibility and meaning. From that place of familiarity, I want to engage with his work from a Christian perspective—highlighting both the intellectual appeal and the theological shortcomings that need to be addressed.

1. Peterson’s Allegorical Reading of the Bible: Insightful but Incomplete

One of the most distinctive aspects of Peterson’s engagement with the Bible is his allegorical approach. Drawing heavily from Carl Jung’s psychological framework, Peterson views the stories of the Old Testament as archetypal symbols—representations of the eternal struggles and moral lessons that shape human existence. For Peterson, the narratives of Cain and Abel, Adam and Eve, Moses, and Abraham are not historical records of divine intervention but profound allegories that provide moral and psychological insights.

For instance, the story of Cain and Abel is, in Peterson’s view, a reflection on the destructive power of resentment and jealousy. Cain’s failure to overcome his bitterness toward Abel serves as a moral warning to modern readers about the consequences of indulging in envy and moral failure. Similarly, Adam and Eve are not historical figures who introduced sin into the world through their disobedience to God; rather, their story symbolizes the awakening of human consciousness, representing the tension between moral knowledge and existential guilt.

While these interpretations provide practical insights into human psychology and moral behaviour, they miss the central message of Scripture. From a Christian perspective, the Bible is not primarily a collection of moral allegories or psychological insights but the unfolding narrative of God’s redemptive plan in history. The stories of Cain, Abel, Adam, and Eve are not merely symbolic—they are historical realities that point to humanity’s fallen nature and the need for divine redemption. The Bible reveals God’s direct intervention in the world, not just to teach us how to live better lives but to offer salvation through Jesus Christ.

Peterson’s allegorization of the Old Testament is insightful on a psychological level, but it disconnects the Bible from its theological foundation. By focusing on moral lessons, Peterson reduces the Bible to a guidebook for personal improvement, overlooking its primary purpose—to reveal God’s redemptive work in Jesus Christ. The stories of Scripture are not just moral archetypes; they are part of the grand narrative that culminates in the life, death, and resurrection of Christ, the true source of meaning and salvation.

2. Peterson’s Concept of God: Order Without Redemption

Central to Peterson’s philosophy is his concept of God as the force of order in the universe. For Peterson, God represents the principle of moral and psychological structure, the highest good that opposes chaos and destruction. This concept of God resonates with many because it addresses the existential struggle between order and chaos that characterizes human life. In this view, Satan represents the force of chaos, the destructive power that undermines stability and meaning. Peterson’s God is an abstract principle, a symbol of moral order, rather than the personal, relational God of Christianity.

This concept of God aligns with a dualistic worldview, in which the universe is a battleground between opposing forces—good versus evil, light versus darkness, order versus chaos. God, in Peterson’s framework, becomes almost like an egregore, a collective thought-form that arises from humanity’s shared longing for order, morality, and justice. An egregore, in this sense, is a powerful psychological construct that gains influence through collective human consciousness.

However, this dualistic and abstract concept of God falls short of the Christian understanding. In Christianity, God is not merely a force of order but a personal and relational Creator who enters into history to bring redemption. The God of the Bible is not an abstract principle; He is a God who makes covenants, who speaks, who saves. He is the God who became flesh in the person of Jesus Christ to take on the sins of the world and reconcile humanity to Himself. Peterson’s concept of God as order without redemption misses the heart of the gospel—that God’s work in the world is not just to impose order but to bring life out of death, redemption out of sin, and salvation through the cross.

3. What Makes Scripture Christian: Christ at the Center

Peterson’s approach to Scripture offers moral wisdom and insight, but it fails to recognise what makes the Bible inherently Christian: Christ. As Jesus said to the Pharisees, "You diligently study the Scriptures because you think that in them you have eternal life. These are the very Scriptures that testify about me, yet you refuse to come to me to have life" (John 5:39-40). This is a profound warning, reminding us that the Scriptures themselves are not inherently Christian if they are disconnected from Christ. True Christianity is not about studying the Bible alone; it is about following and trusting Jesus, who is the fulfilment of all Scripture.

The Pharisees knew the Scriptures inside and out, yet they missed Christ, the very One to whom the Scriptures pointed. Similarly, Peterson’s deep engagement with the Bible reveals valuable moral truths, but by treating the Bible as a repository of psychological and philosophical wisdom, he misses the central truth: that the Bible is about God’s revelation of Himself through Christ. The Bible’s ultimate purpose is to lead us to Christ—not just as a source of moral wisdom, but as the Saviour and Lord who offers eternal life.

This is why there is nothing inherently Christian about the Scriptures when they are read in a purely allegorical or moralistic way. The Bible becomes Christian when it is read through the lens of Christ’s redemptive work. Every story, every prophecy, every law ultimately points to Jesus. The Old Testament anticipates His coming, and the New Testament reveals the fulfilment of God’s plan of salvation in Him. Without this recognition, the Scriptures, no matter how deeply studied or appreciated for their wisdom, remain incomplete. Peterson, by missing Christ, ultimately reduces the Bible to something less than what it truly is—God’s revelation of the way, the truth, and the life through His Son.

4. The Incomplete Wisdom of Pragmatism: Why “What Works” Isn’t Enough

A central theme in Peterson’s philosophy is his emphasis on pragmatism—the idea that truth is what works. In his view, the Bible offers valuable lessons for creating order, taking responsibility, and living a meaningful life. These are principles that resonate with many, particularly in a world where chaos and instability seem ever-present. Peterson’s emphasis on self-discipline, responsibility, and moral integrity appeals to our innate desire for stability and success.

However, pragmatism, no matter how effective, is not enough to address the deeper issues of the human heart. The Bible’s purpose is not simply to teach us what works but to reveal what God has done. The gospel is not about self-improvement or achieving success in this life; it is about God’s grace—the unearned, undeserved gift of salvation through Jesus Christ. As Ephesians 2:8-9 reminds us, "For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith—and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God—not by works, so that no one can boast."

Peterson’s pragmatic wisdom may help people manage life’s challenges and create order out of chaos, but it cannot save. Success in this life—whether moral, psychological, or material—does not guarantee salvation. True transformation comes not from what we can do but from what God has done for us in Christ. 1 Corinthians 1:18 tells us that "the message of the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved, it is the power of God." The cross, which appears to be a failure in worldly terms, is the very place where God’s power is revealed.

Peterson’s focus on what works offers temporary solutions to life’s problems, but it does not provide the eternal solution that only the gospel can. The gospel is not about what we do; it is about what God has done through Christ’s death and resurrection. Without this understanding, Peterson’s teachings remain valuable for personal growth but incomplete for salvation.

5. General Revelation vs. Special Revelation: The Limits of Human Wisdom

Peterson’s insights into human behaviour and morality reflect what theologians call general revelation—the knowledge of God that is accessible through creation, human reason, and the moral law written in our hearts. Romans 1:20 tells us that "since the creation of the world, God’s invisible qualities—his eternal power and divine nature—have been clearly seen, being understood from what has been made, so that people are without excuse." Peterson grasps these universal truths—the need for order, the moral structure of the universe, and the importance of responsibility.

However, general revelation can only take us so far. While it reveals aspects of God’s character, it does not reveal the way of salvation. For that, we need special revelation—the gospel of Jesus Christ, which is revealed through Scripture. As Romans 10:17 reminds us, "Faith comes from hearing, and hearing through the word of Christ." While Peterson’s teachings align with general revelation, they fall short of offering the special revelation that leads to eternal life.

Without the gospel, general revelation provides moral guidance but cannot offer the forgiveness of sins and the hope of salvation. Peterson’s reliance on human wisdom and natural law addresses the symptoms of human brokenness but not the root cause—sin. Only through the gospel of Jesus Christ can we experience the fullness of God’s redemptive plan.

6. John Walton and Gregory Beale: Understanding the Old Testament in Light of Christ

One of the most significant challenges with Jordan Peterson’s interpretation of the Bible is his allegorical reading of the Old Testament, where he seeks to extract moral lessons or psychological truths rather than engaging with the historical and theological reality of the text. Scholars such as John Walton and G.K. Beale offer a much-needed corrective to this approach, providing us with tools to understand the Old Testament on its own terms and within the broader narrative of God’s redemptive plan, culminating in Christ.

John Walton: Reading the Old Testament in its Ancient Near Eastern Context

John Walton argues that the Old Testament cannot be properly understood without considering its original context—specifically, the ancient Near Eastern world in which it was written. Walton emphasizes that the Old Testament was not written to modern audiences, nor was it intended to convey abstract psychological archetypes or universal moral lessons, as Peterson often suggests. Instead, it was written to the Israelites, a specific people living in a specific time and place, and its meaning must be understood in relation to their cultural, historical, and theological context.

According to Walton, in order to grasp the true meaning of the Old Testament, we must first ask: What did the original authors intend to communicate to their original audience? This involves recognizing the literary, historical, and theological dimensions of the text as understood by ancient Israel. Walton’s work teaches us that the Old Testament stories—whether about Moses, Abraham, or David—cannot be reduced to timeless metaphors. They are deeply embedded in the covenantal relationship between God and Israel, and their meaning is inseparable from this historical reality.

G.K. Beale: The Redemptive-Historical Fulfillment of Scripture in Christ

While Walton helps us to understand the Old Testament in its original context, G.K. Beale provides insight into how the Old Testament is to be read through the lens of Christ’s redemptive work. Beale’s focus on the New Testament use of the Old Testament shows how Jesus and His apostles read the Old Testament as part of the unfolding narrative of God’s salvation plan. For Beale, the Old Testament is not merely a series of isolated stories or moral lessons—it is part of a grand narrative that finds its fulfilment in Christ.

Beale’s concept of typology is particularly relevant here. He argues that many of the figures, events, and institutions in the Old Testament serve as types or foreshadowings of Christ. For instance, the Passover lamb is a type of Christ, who is the true Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world. The sacrificial system points to Christ’s ultimate sacrifice on the cross. The Exodus prefigures Christ’s deliverance of His people from the bondage of sin. This typological reading of the Old Testament helps us to see how all of Scripture is ultimately about Christ.

Reading the Old Testament with Christ at the Centre

By combining the insights of Walton and Beale, we can approach the Old Testament with a fuller understanding. First, we must read it in light of its original context (Walton), recognizing that it was written to ancient Israelites with a specific historical and theological purpose. Then, we must read it in light of Christ’s redemptive work (Beale), recognizing that the Old Testament ultimately points forward to the fulfilment of God’s promises in Christ.

Peterson’s allegorical readings often miss both of these aspects. He overlooks the original context of the Old Testament, treating it as a collection of universal psychological insights, and he also misses the Christocentric nature of Scripture, focusing instead on human moral development rather than on God’s redemptive work.

Walton’s and Beale’s approaches offer a corrective, showing us that the Old Testament cannot be reduced to moral lessons or allegories—it must be understood as divine revelation, with Christ at the centre of its meaning. The Old Testament is not merely about order versus chaos or responsibility versus despair; it is about God’s covenant faithfulness and His plan to redeem the world through His Son, Jesus Christ.

The Missing Power of the Gospel

Jordan Peterson offers valuable insights into the human condition, drawing on ancient wisdom and modern psychology to help people navigate life’s challenges. His emphasis on order, responsibility, and meaning speaks to a deep need in our world for moral clarity and psychological stability. However, as Christians, we must recognise that Peterson’s teachings, while helpful, are incomplete. By focusing on what works and treating the Bible as a guidebook for personal improvement, Peterson misses the true power of Scripture—the gospel of Jesus Christ.

The Bible is not primarily about teaching us how to live better lives; it is about revealing how God has saved us through Jesus Christ. It is not about order versus chaos; it is about life out of death. The cross, which appears to be a moment of defeat, is the place where true victory is won. As 1 Corinthians 2:2 declares, "For I resolved to know nothing while I was with you except Jesus Christ and Him crucified." It is this message—the message of the cross—that transforms lives, not through human effort but through God’s grace.

As Christians, we can engage with Peterson’s teachings and appreciate his insights into human nature, moral responsibility, and the need for order in a chaotic world. But we must also remember that the true power of the Bible lies not in its moral lessons or psychological wisdom but in its revelation of Jesus Christ, the Savior of the world. Without Christ, the Scriptures remain incomplete, and success in this life, no matter how impressive, cannot offer the eternal hope that comes only through faith in Him.

Bibliography

Throughout my engagement with Jordan Peterson’s work, I’ve been informed by his profound contributions to the discussion of psychology, philosophy, and the human experience. Specifically, I’ve read and studied:

  • Jordan Peterson: Maps of Meaning: The Architecture of Belief
  • Jordan Peterson: 12 Rules for Life: An Antidote to Chaos

These works have shaped my understanding of Peterson’s views on order, chaos, responsibility, and the allegorical readings of Scripture.

Additionally, my critique of Peterson’s interpretations of the Old Testament has been significantly informed by the work of biblical scholars who provide corrective frameworks to his allegorisation:

  • John Walton: Wisdom for Faithful Reading: Principles and Practices for Old Testament Interpretation

  • John Walton: The Lost World Series
    Walton’s insights on how to read the Old Testament in its historical and cultural context have deeply influenced my approach. He emphasizes the importance of understanding the ancient Near Eastern context and the original meaning intended by the biblical authors. His work provides an essential counterbalance to Peterson’s tendency to moralize and allegorize biblical narratives.

  • G.K. Beale: A New Testament Biblical Theology: The Unfolding of the Old Testament in the New

  • G.K. Beale: Handbook on the New Testament Use of the Old Testament
    Beale’s scholarship has been invaluable in helping me grasp the redemptive-historical fulfilment of the Old Testament in the New Testament. He explores the way in which the entire Bible—particularly the Old Testament—points toward Christ, a theme that is often absent in Peterson’s readings. Beale’s work on New Testament use of the Old Testament highlights how Christ and His apostles revealed the ultimate meaning and purpose of Scripture.

Acknowledgements

I've used ChatGPT to assist in creating and editing this article; however, all insights, arguments, and original content presented here are wholly my own.


Beauty from Chaos: Art and the Transformative Power of Christian Hope

Beauty, Tragedy, and the Hope of Transformation: Reflections on Faith, Art, and the Absurdity of Life

Life is often brutal. It can feel absurd, both in our thoughts and in reality. Amidst this chaos, we long for something more. We search for a legacy that will make sense of the stains left on our lives. Despite the brutality, we seek beauty, and—miraculously—often find it. We are surrounded by ugliness and despair, yet, with defiance, we crave hope. We search for ways to transform the mess, the mayhem of our maddening existence, into meaning, memory, or a memento of the suffering we’ve endured. And so we create.

From the earliest markings on cave walls by Homo neanderthalensis to today's Spotify-saturated playlists, art has become a reflection of this desperate search for meaning.

Today, especially, life’s weight can feel unbearable. The constant barrage of suffering, chaos, and confusion often drives us to look for an escape. As humans, we frequently turn to art, music, and beauty as a way to cope, to redeem the absurdity of life.

During a sermon at St John’s Presbyterian Church in Hobart, Aaron Johnstone asked a question that resonated deeply with me: “Do Christians believe in beauty?” It’s a profound question, particularly in light of the world’s brutal realities. Aaron explored this in his message, quoting Nietzsche from The Birth of Tragedy:

"Art approaches as a saving sorceress, expert at healing. She alone knows how to turn these nauseous thoughts about the horror or absurdity of existence into notions with which one can live: these are the sublime as the artistic taming of the horrible, and the comic as the artistic discharge of the nausea of absurdity."

This quote captures the power of art in human life—the ability to take what feels unbearable and shape it into something that can be lived with. But for us, as Christians, art is not merely about taming tragedy. It is about transforming it. This is the transformation I want to reflect on, both for myself and for my son, Elijah—a 19-year-old philosophy student at university—who has been wrestling with these themes in our conversations.

This article is a response, not just to Nietzsche’s sentiments on art as a way of making meaning from life’s madness, but to my son as a Christian philosophy student engaging with Nietzsche. Our faith, and Christ in particular, doesn’t simply help us make sense of brutality—it offers hope that transforms it into something more beautiful and meaningful than we could have imagined. This is the significant difference between the tragedy Nietzsche describes and the beauty Christianity holds out to us.


The Christian Understanding of Beauty

Christians do indeed believe in beauty, but our understanding of it is shaped through the lens of faith. For believers, beauty is more than an aesthetic quality—it’s a reflection of something much deeper: God’s character, creation, and truth. Beauty, for Christians, is not just a fleeting human construct or momentary experience. It’s a window into the divine. From the majesty of nature to the complexities of human relationships, beauty allows us to glimpse God’s nature, the source of all that is good.

Where Nietzsche viewed art as a way to cope with the chaos and absurdity of existence, Christians see beauty as more than an aesthetic balm—it’s tied to goodness, truth, and wholeness. Beauty is not simply what pleases the eye; it’s harmony, balance, and alignment with God’s will. It’s a pointer toward something greater, something transcendent that speaks to the order and meaning within creation.

Philippians 4:8 expresses this idea well: "Whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things."

Beauty in the Christian worldview is not random or subjective; it’s connected to what is true and right. The things we call beautiful reflect God’s design, His truth, and His goodness. They point toward wholeness, even in a world that often feels fragmented and broken.

Here’s where Nietzsche and Christianity both converge and diverge. Nietzsche saw art as a way to process the horrors and absurdities of life, a way to live with the overwhelming nausea that existence can bring. And in some ways, Christians can agree—art, literature, and beauty help us grapple with profound truths, including suffering, loss, and redemption.

But Nietzsche viewed art as a tool for creating meaning in a meaningless world. For Christians, however, beauty and art affirm that life already has meaning, purpose, and order, even in the face of suffering. For us, beauty is not just a way to respond to life’s darkness; it’s a glimpse into the divine. Through Christ, even the brokenness of the world can be transformed into something beautiful.

This understanding of beauty is inseparable from hope and redemption. Where Nietzsche might see beauty as a way to bear the unbearable, Christians see it as a promise—a glimpse of God’s ultimate plan to restore all things to wholeness.


The Balance of Chaos and Order in Art and Life

Nietzsche’s exploration of Greek tragedy revealed two forces at play in art and existence: the Dionysian and the Apollonian. These artistic principles, named after the gods Dionysus and Apollo, represent the tension between raw experience and ideal form—the chaos of life "as it is" versus the order of life "as it could be." Nietzsche’s analysis of tragedy viewed it as the highest form of art because it married these opposing forces, allowing people to face life’s darkness while still grasping at the beauty within it.

The Apollonian represents the structured, rational, and ideal—order, logic, clarity. It seeks to impose form on chaos, representing life “as it could be,” a vision of harmony and perfection. The Dionysian, on the other hand, is wild, emotional, and chaotic. It taps into the primal aspects of human nature—suffering, joy, and unpredictability. In art, the Dionysian speaks to life’s deepest truths: that life is often uncontrollable, filled with both pain and ecstasy.

In Greek tragedy, Nietzsche saw these forces combine. Tragedy, for Nietzsche, was the highest form of art because it embraced the Dionysian chaos, the reality that life is often brutal, confusing, and full of suffering, while containing within it the Apollonian form—the beauty of structure that helps us process suffering. Together, they create the sublime, a space where we confront life’s darkness while being lifted by its beauty.

This tension resonates with the Christian perspective on suffering and beauty, though through a different lens. Christianity acknowledges suffering—the world is broken, chaotic, and painful. But where Nietzsche saw art as a means to endure life’s brutality, Christianity offers something more: redemption.

The Christian narrative holds that beauty is not simply found in the order we impose on chaos but in the promise of restoration through Christ. Where Nietzsche believed the fusion of the Apollonian and Dionysian created art that elevated human experience, Christianity views the tension between suffering and beauty as an opportunity for transformation.

For Christians, tragedy confronts us with life’s brutal truths, but through Christ, those truths are reframed in light of the resurrection. Suffering is not the end of the story; it is where God’s grace enters, where beauty is restored from brokenness. The cross, for example, is the ultimate tragedy—the death of God incarnate, the rawness of human suffering. But the resurrection transforms the chaotic suffering of the cross into the redemption of all creation.

For Nietzsche, tragedy was the only way to face the horror of existence and still find meaning in it. For Christians, however, beauty not only reflects life as it is or as it could be—it points us toward life as it will be in God’s final restoration. Even in chaos, hope remains. Through Christ, everything will be made new.


Yahweh as Creator of Beauty and the Call to Sub-Creation

In the biblical narrative, Yahweh is the ultimate creator of beauty, and this beauty is woven into every aspect of creation. From the very beginning in Genesis 1, we see a creation that is not only functional but deeply delightful—filled with the spark, spunk, and joy of life. God’s creation is inherently good, and humans, made in His image, are invited to participate in this creative process.

In Genesis 2, humanity is called to cultivate and explore. The earth is filled with gold, rivers, and beauty, and humans are given the task of naming the animals, a symbolic act of creativity and discovery that echoes through time—from exploring the depths of the Mariana Trench to the invention of new technologies. This is the mandate to sub-create, a continuation of God’s creativity. We don’t just survive; we create, we discover, and we find beauty even in the smallest details of life, like fruit that is "pleasing to the eye."

But Genesis doesn’t shy away from brokenness. Genesis 3 introduces sin and chaos, and from there, humanity wrestles with both creativity and destruction. The story of Cain and Abel introduces city-building and cultural creation alongside violence and disorder. The world is both beautiful and broken, and human creativity reflects this dual reality.

Even in brokenness, the Bible insists that humans are still called to create, to cultivate, and to beautify. The construction of the tabernacle in Exodus 35 offers a glimpse into how beauty plays a central role in worship. The artist Bezalel, filled with the Spirit of God, is given wisdom and skill to design beautiful works in metal, stone, wood, linen, and jewels. Worship here is not a raw, stripped-back experience, but one designed to lift the human spirit into a transcendent encounter with God.

This connection between beauty and worship has shaped Christian history, inspiring some of the most stunning achievements in architecture, music, and art. The cathedrals of Europe, the works of Tolkien, Lewis, Dostoevsky, and composers like Mozart—all mirror God’s creative work. Even pop culture echoes this in unexpected ways. Take the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles—fictional characters named after four Renaissance artists: Leonardo, Michelangelo, Raphael, and Donatello. Their creators participated in a larger story of beauty that points back to the Creator.

Christians are called to join this sub-creation, reflecting God’s truth, goodness, and beauty in our lives and work. Our creativity is sacred, a way of bringing beauty into a broken world. Whether through art, music, architecture, or small acts of daily life, we reflect God’s nature, drawing others closer to Him.

Kintsugi, the Japanese art of mending pottery with gold, offers a perfect illustration of Christian hope. God doesn’t discard the broken pieces of our lives; instead, He mends them, making us more beautiful in the process. This is the heart of redemption: taking shattered fragments and restoring them to something more beautiful, whole, and radiant.

Tolkien described this idea of sub-creation as not just copying what exists but adding to it in ways that reflect God’s ongoing work. Our art, our creativity—whether in literature, visual art, or the way we live—offers glimpses of divine beauty. We are called to celebrate and participate in God’s creation, continually making things new, beautiful, and meaningful.

From cathedrals to Tolkien’s fictional realms, Christian art has long reflected the beauty of creation and the hope of redemption. Beauty points us beyond the chaos and brutality of life toward the ultimate beauty found in God—a beauty that reflects His character and transforms our broken world into something radiant.


Christian Suspicion of the Arts: A Complex Relationship

This tension between Christianity and the arts is something critics have long pointed out. One such critic, A.C. Grayling, argued in an article for The Guardian that Christianity had a repressive effect on Western civilization’s cultural progress for centuries. Grayling wrote:

"Seven centuries after the beginnings of classical civilisation in the Greece of Pericles and Socrates, an oriental superstition, consisting of an amalgam of dying and resurrecting god myths and myths about the impregnation of mortal maids by deities, captured the Roman Empire. Such was the beginning of Christianity. By the accident of its being the myth chosen by Constantine for his purposes, it plunged Europe into the dark ages for the next thousand years - scarcely any literature or philosophy, and the forgetting of the arts and crafts of classical civilisation, before a struggle to escape the church's narrow ignorance and oppression saw the rebirth of classical learning, and its ethos of inquiry and autonomy, in the Renaissance."

While Grayling’s perspective is harsh, it reflects the view that, for centuries, Christian suspicion of secular art led to a cultural stifling, particularly in periods like the Dark Ages. Yet, as we’ve discussed, this narrative oversimplifies history, neglecting the profound artistic contributions Christianity has made, from cathedrals to manuscripts, and more.

Grayling’s portrayal casts Christianity as responsible for holding back artistic and intellectual progress until the Renaissance broke free from its grip. While there are elements of truth in this critique, Tom Holland, in his book Dominion, counters Grayling’s view, arguing that Christianity was not merely a force of repression but a transformative influence on Western civilization. Many of the values we now hold dear—human rights, individual dignity, and the arts’ value—are deeply rooted in Christian theology, even though they emerged in dialogue with classical traditions.

At various points in history, certain strands of Christianity have indeed viewed the arts with suspicion. The Puritans of the Victorian era, for instance, rejected worldliness and cautioned against anything that might distract from spiritual life. This attitude persists in some Christian communities today, where cultural phenomena like Harry Potter or events such as Hobart's Dark Mofo provoke backlash for perceived glorification of the occult or transgression. For many Christians, there is genuine concern that the arts can lead people away from God by glorifying themes contradictory to Christian teachings—violence, immorality, or idolatry.

Yet this wariness of the arts isn’t universal, nor does it represent the full picture. Throughout history, Christians have been some of the most prolific patrons and creators of art, believing that beauty and creativity are gifts from God meant to express divine truth. While some Christian communities, like the Amish or certain monastic traditions, chose to disengage from mainstream culture to maintain purity, many others embraced art as a vital means of communicating faith and exploring the human condition.

The concern that art could distort truth or elevate human creativity above divine revelation has often fueled Christian suspicion of the arts. But this suspicion also obscures the rich history of Christian engagement with beauty and creativity. The medieval period—sometimes dismissed as a "dark age"—was actually a time of significant artistic and intellectual development within the church. Monasteries preserved classical knowledge, translating texts and creating illuminated manuscripts that blended faith with beauty. Thinkers like Aquinas and writers like Dante showed that the church was far from an enemy of literature, philosophy, and art.

In fact, many of the greatest artistic achievements of the Renaissance emerged from Christian contexts, with artists like Michelangelo, Raphael, and Botticelli working closely with the church. Even monastic traditions, which might seem like retreats from culture, were spaces where art and creativity flourished. Gregorian chants, theological writings, and intricate manuscripts weren’t distractions from the spiritual life—they were ways of glorifying God and drawing people into divine mystery through the senses.

This tension between engaging with the world and withdrawing from it is a recurring theme in Christianity. Some, like the Amish, chose to disengage, while others, like the great Christian artists, theologians, and writers, saw beauty and creativity as central to the Christian mission. Art can indeed become an idol if it is valued above God, but it can also be a powerful tool for pointing people toward Him.

Today, suspicion of the arts continues in some Christian circles. Backlash against Harry Potter or provocative contemporary art reflects discomfort with themes of magic, the occult, or transgression. These concerns aren’t unfounded, as Christians are called to discern the truth behind cultural expressions. However, it’s essential to remember that not all Christian responses to culture have been negative or defensive.

Many Christians have viewed the arts as a way to explore divine beauty, truth, and goodness. Writers like Tolkien, Lewis, Dostoevsky, and poets like T.S. Eliot integrated their faith with their creative work, demonstrating that Christianity and the arts can work hand in hand. Their stories explored profound theological truths and grappled with the human experience of suffering, redemption, and grace.

While there are examples of Christian opposition to the arts, that’s not the whole story. Christianity has been a source of profound artistic and cultural contributions. The tension between suspicion and engagement has always been present. The church has often acted as both a critic of culture and a creator of it, shaping art, literature, and music in ways that reflect God’s beauty and truth. The challenge for Christians today is to find the balance: to engage with the arts in ways that uplift, transform, and glorify God without slipping into withdrawal or idolatry.


The Tension Between Art, Idolatry, and Discernment

Reflecting on Christian engagement with the arts inevitably brings us to the issue of idolatry. The stories of the Tower of Babel and the Golden Calf from the Bible serve as clear examples of humanity misusing creativity to construct monuments to themselves or fashion idols for false worship. These stories are not just ancient relics—they’re ongoing reminders of the danger that arises when we allow our creations to replace or distort true worship.

In both stories, humans used their God-given capacity to create, but they did so in ways that drew them away from God. The Tower of Babel (Genesis 11) symbolizes humanity's prideful desire to reach divine status, constructing a monumental tower to make a name for themselves. This wasn’t merely an architectural project—it was an attempt to elevate human achievement, to place their trust in their abilities rather than God. It illustrates the danger of art and creativity when they become self-glorifying or idolatrous.

Similarly, the Golden Calf (Exodus 32) tells of the Israelites turning to a tangible, man-made object for worship, forgetting the invisible and transcendent God who had rescued them. Their creativity, instead of being used to glorify God, became an instrument of false worship. These stories highlight a recurring concern in Christian theology: the potential for human creativity to act as a Trojan horse, smuggling in falsehood or distracting us from the truth of God.

This is the tension Christians must navigate when engaging with art and culture. While beauty and creativity are gifts from God, they can be misused, leading people away from the truth. As Paul writes in Philippians 4:8: "Whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things." This passage serves as a filter for assessing art and culture. Not everything beautiful or compelling on the surface is morally or spiritually helpful.

At the same time, Christians must be careful not to reject all art from secular or non-Christian sources. The concept of "plundering the Egyptians" (Exodus 12:35-36)—where the Israelites took valuable items from Egypt to use in building the tabernacle—offers an intriguing metaphor. It suggests that Christians can redeem elements of culture, taking what is good and beautiful, even from pagan or secular contexts, and using it for God’s glory. This is not a call for uncritical acceptance but for discernment. Like the Israelites, we must be thoughtful about how we use cultural treasures, ensuring they glorify God and uplift rather than distort or distract.

However, not all art and culture can or should be redeemed. Some forms of art are provocative or destructive. Certain artistic expressions—such as pornography—may be labelled "artistic" by some, but they clearly distort human dignity and are morally degrading. This kind of art doesn’t align with a Christian understanding of beauty because it objectifies people and glorifies sin. True beauty, from a Christian perspective, reflects something of God’s character—truth, goodness, purity, and love. Art that degrades, dehumanizes, or celebrates vice doesn’t meet this standard.

This brings us to the broader question of provocation and boundaries in art. Some art intentionally challenges norms or provokes thought. This can be both positive and negative. Art that exposes injustice or speaks truth to power can align with Christian values, even when uncomfortable. But art that glorifies violence, crude behaviour, or immorality risks leading people away from God’s truth. Christians must exercise discernment, asking whether the art draws us closer to God or leads us into distortion.

The key is not to reject all secular or provocative art but to approach it with wisdom. Beauty that leads us to worship creation rather than the Creator becomes idolatrous. Beauty that distorts human dignity or glorifies sin is harmful, no matter how aesthetically compelling. As Christians, we are called to seek and create art that reflects God’s nature—art that is pure, noble, and good.

Ultimately, our engagement with art must be rooted in truth. Not everything beautiful is good, and not everything provocative is helpful. Christians are called to participate in culture, creating and engaging with art in ways that reflect God’s transformative power. We are always aiming for beauty that uplifts, redeems, and glorifies the Creator.


Christ and the Ultimate Picture of Beauty

Christ paints the most beautiful picture of all, yet the masterpiece He creates is not without shadows and tensions. Scripture, in its honesty, doesn’t shy away from life’s complexities. It acknowledges contradictions, pain, and brokenness while offering something infinitely better: a vision of hope and restoration.

Ecclesiastes encapsulates this tension well. Life can seem meaningless, repetitive, and full of contradictions, especially from an earthly perspective. Yet, amid that meaninglessness, we catch glimpses of beauty and goodness—fleeting moments that hint at something beyond the chaos.

This echoes Nietzsche’s idea that art helps make sense of life’s absurdity. He saw art as a way to confront existence’s harshness while providing a means to live with it. In a way, the Bible acknowledges this, presenting life as both brutal and beautiful. Yet, Christianity offers something that transcends Nietzsche’s vision: redemption.

For the Christian, beauty and tragedy aren’t mere opposites to be balanced; they’re interwoven in a tapestry of suffering and triumph. As theologian Francis Schaeffer pointed out, the dark times of life are real, but they’re not the end. Christianity avoids the twin dangers of pessimism (where everything is hopeless) and idealism (where pain is denied). Instead, it offers a God who enters into suffering and experiences life’s brokenness firsthand in Christ. The cross is not only a tragedy; it’s a promise that tragedy will be transformed into victory through the resurrection.

In an interview with composer Arvo Pärt, Icelandic musician Björk compared the contrasts in his music to the story of Pinocchio. She noted that just as Pinocchio’s journey is one of transformation, Pärt’s music balances between major and minor keys, reflecting the interplay of light and dark, tragedy and triumph. Pärt responded that his faith enables him to harmonize these contrasts, to make sense of both the beauty and the brokenness of life. His music, like his faith, reflects the hope of redemption—a reminder that, through Christ, even the darkest moments of life can be transformed into something beautiful. This mirrors the Christian belief that the tragedy of the cross is met with the dawn of resurrection, where light breaks through darkness, and hope emerges from despair.

This contrast between light and dark, suffering and beauty, is like the music of Arvo Pärt, whose compositions balance the same tensions. Christ’s death on the cross is the ultimate Greek tragedy: a moment of profound loss, suffering, and betrayal. But the resurrection transforms the darkness into light, turning the minor key into a major one. This is the Christian hope: that tragedy is not the final word and that beauty can emerge from brokenness.

This is where the Japanese art of Kintsugi, the practice of mending broken pottery with gold, offers a powerful metaphor. The fractures are not erased but highlighted, turning brokenness into something valuable. In the same way, Christ’s resurrection doesn’t erase the suffering of the cross—it transforms it. Our lives, marked by brokenness, are like that pottery. God doesn’t discard us because of our fractures; He restores us, making us more beautiful through the process of healing and redemption.


Conclusion

Art and beauty, in all their forms, offer us a way to navigate the tension between the brokenness of the world and the hope we have in Christ. Nietzsche, though a fierce critic of Christianity, recognised the power of art to make sense of life’s absurdities. Christianity, however, goes a step further, offering not only an escape from life’s brutality but the promise of ultimate redemption. As Aaron Johnstone explored in his sermon, Christians do believe in beauty—beauty that transforms tragedy, offers hope, and points to God’s redemptive work in the world.


Bibliography

  • Grayling, A.C. "Christianity’s Dark Ages." The Guardian, 2007.
  • Johnstone, Aaron. Do Christians Believe in Beauty? Sermon delivered at St John’s Presbyterian Church, Hobart, 15 September 2024. Visit www.stjohnshobart.com.
  • Holland, Tom. Dominion: The Making of the Western Mind. London: Little, Brown, 2019.
  • Nietzsche, Friedrich. The Birth of Tragedy. Translated by Walter Kaufmann. New York: Random House, 1967.
  • Schaeffer, Francis A. Art and the Bible. InterVarsity Press, 1973.
  • Tolkien, J.R.R. On Fairy Stories. Edited by Verlyn Flieger and Douglas A. Anderson. HarperCollins Publishers, 2008.

Special Thanks

This article was inspired by a sermon delivered by Aaron Johnstone at St John’s Presbyterian Church, Hobart, where he serves as part of the City Bible Forum. Aaron’s thoughtful exploration of the Christian understanding of beauty, suffering, and redemption provided the foundation for the theological reflection and philosophical engagement presented here. His sermon was the primary source for the creation of the content of this piece, particularly in connecting Christian theology with artistic expression and human experience.

Acknowledgements

I've used ChatGPT to assist in creating and editing this article; however, all insights, arguments, and original content presented here are wholly my own.