(Continued from vol. xli., p. 427.)
II.
WE find the disputants stationed beside the deepest resources of the respective theologies, only half-conscious of the ground they occupy, and the far-reaching consequences of the propositions for which they are respectively to fight.
“Man’s will before his conversion,” says Carlstadt, “can perform no good work. Every good work comes entirely and exclusively from God, who gives to man first the will to do, and then the power of accomplishing.” Such was the proposition maintained at one end of the hall. It was a very old proposition, though it seemed new when announced in the Pleissenburg hall, having been thoroughly obscured by the schoolmen. The Reformers could plead Augustine’s authority in behalf of their proposition; they could plead a yet greater authority, even that of Paul. The apostle had maintained this proposition both negatively and positively. He had described the “carnal mind” as “enmity against God;” he had spoken of the understanding as “darkness,” and of men as “alienated from the life of God through the ignorance that is in them.” This same doctrine he had put also in the positive form. “It is God that worketh in you both to will and to do of his good pleasure.” Our Saviour has laid down a great principle which amounts to this, that corrupt human nature by itself can produce nothing but what is corrupt, when he said, “That which is born of the flesh is flesh.” And the same great principle is asserted, with equal clearness, though in figurative language, when he says, “A corrupt tree cannot bring forth good fruit.” And were commentary needed to bring out the full meaning of this statement, we have it in the personal application which the apostle makes of it to himself. “For I know that in me (that is, in my flesh) dwelleth no good thing.” If then man’s whole nature be corrupt, said the Reformer, nothing but what is corrupt can proceed from him, till he be quickened by the Spirit of God. Antecedently to the operations of the Spirit upon his understanding and heart, he lacks the moral power of loving and obeying God, and of effecting anything that may really avail for his deliverance and salvation; and he who can do nothing for himself must owe all to God.
At the other end of the hall, occupying the pulpit over which was suspended the representation of St. George and the dragon, rose the tall portly form of Dr. Eck. With stentorian voice and animated gestures, he repudiates the doctrine which has just been put forth by Carlstadt. Eck admits that man is fallen, that his nature is corrupt, but he declines to define the extent of that corruption; he maintains that it is not universal, that his whole nature is not corrupt, that man has the power of doing some things that are spiritually good; and that, prior to the action of God’s Spirit upon his mind and heart, man can do works which have a certain kind of merit, the merit of congruity even; and God rewards these good works done in the man’s own strength, with grace by which he is able to do what still remains of the work of his salvation.
The combatants at the one end of the hall fight for salvation by grace—grace to the entire exclusion of human merit: salvation of God. The combatants at the other end fight for salvation by works, a salvation beginning in man’s own efforts and good works, and these efforts and good works running along the whole line of operation; and though they attract to them supernatural grace, and make it their yoke-fellow as it were, yet themselves substantially and meritoriously do the work. This is salvation of man.
If the doctrine of the corruption of man’s whole nature be true, if he has lost the power of choosing what is spiritually good, and doing work spiritually acceptable to God, the Protestant divines were right. If he retains this power, the Roman theologians were on the side of truth. There is no middle position.
Offended at a doctrine which so completely took away from man all cause of glorifying, Eck, feigning astonishment and anger, exclaimed, “Your doctrine converts a man into a stone or log incapable of any action.” The apostle had expressed it better: “dead in trespasses and sins.” Yet he did not regard those in that condition whom he addressed as a stone or a log, for he gave them the motives to believe, and held them guilty before God should they reject the gospel.
A log or a stone! it was answered from Carlstadt’s end of the hall. Does our doctrine make man such? does it reduce him to the level of an irrational animal? By no means. Can he not meditate and reflect, compare and choose? Can he not read and understand the statements of Scripture declaring to him in what state he is sunk, that he is “without strength,” and bidding him ask the aid of the Spirit of God? If he ask, will not that Spirit be given? will not the light of truth be made to shine into his understanding? and by the instrumentality will not his heart be renewed by the Spirit, his moral bias against holiness taken away, and he become able to love and obey God? In man’s capacity to become the subject of such a change, in his possessing such a framework of powers and faculties as, when touched by the Spirit, can be set in motion in the direction of good, is there not, said the Reformers, sufficient to distinguish man from a log, a stone, or an irrational animal?
The Popish divines on this head have ignored a distinction on which Protestant theologians have always and justly laid great stress, the distinction between the rational and the spiritual powers of man.
Is it not matter of experience, the Romanists have argued, that men of themselves—that is, by the promptings and powers of their unrenewed nature—have done good actions? Does not ancient history show us many noble, generous, and virtuous achievements accomplished by the heathen? Did they not love, and die for, their country? All enlightened Protestant theologians have most cheerfully granted this. Man even unrenewed by the Spirit of God may be truthful, benevolent, loving and patriotic; and by the exercise of these qualities, he may invest his own character with singular gracefulness and glory, and to a very large degree benefit his species. But the question here is one regarding a higher good, even that which the Bible denominates “holiness”—“without which no man can see God,”—actions done conformably to the highest standard, which is the Divine law, and from the motive of the highest end, which is the glory of God. Such actions, the Protestant theology teaches, can come only from a heart purified by faith, and quickened by the Spirit of God.
(To be continued.)
Quotation from Wylie’s History of Protestantism*. Vol. I.— D. A. MacF.