REGENERATION
Human nature was certainly originally created blameless and without any fault; but the human nature by which each one of us is now born of Adam requires a physician, because it is not healthy. All the good things, which it had by its conception, life, senses, and mind, it has from God, its creator and maker. But the weakness which darkens and disables these good natural qualities, as a result of which that nature needs enlightenment and healing, did not come from the blameless maker but from original sin which was committed by free will.
These words of Augustine set the stage for our discussion of regeneration. Apart from the miracle of regeneration – that is, apart from the grace of God – man is tainted, corrupted in every aspect of his being. This is the condition of unregenerate man.
As to the outer man, the physical body decays, dying cell by cell. Organs fail, bones become brittle and collapse. The mind degenerates; senility sets in, clouding over memories and confusing rational thought. Our days are numbered indeed; and, indeed, the number is not a great one.
The spiritual man, however, has no days at all, initially. It has already died. While the unregenerate possesses a soul (an inner man that will exist forever), it is desperately wicked (Jer. 17:9), and will remain so, by nature. While remnants of the image of God persist (a will, for example, and an intellect), it is a sorely distorted reflection, with every motive and desire hostile to the glory of God. Such a soul has as its nucleus a void where the flames of the spirit were designed to burn and empower, but where now there is only a cold, dark vacuum. In fact, with the notable exceptions of Adam and Eve (and, of course, Jesus), no man has ever entered the world with a living spirit. We were dead in our trespasses and sins (Ephesians 2:1; Colossians 2:13). We are born that way and we will die that way – our best intentions notwithstanding – barring a miraculous intervention from on high. James Montgomery Boice offers this analogy:
“In medicine there is a condition known as myasthenia gravis, in which the muscles of the body cannot respond to the signals being sent to them by the brain. In a normal patient, the brain signals the muscles to contract by sending electrical impulses along the nerves to the muscles where they are received by a special apparatus known as the motor-end plate. The motor-end plate receives the signal and passes it along to the muscle. In those afflicted by myasthenia gravis the end plates are missing. Consequently, although the brain sends the signal, it is never received by the muscle. Because it is not received, the muscle does not respond and eventually shrivels up.
“That is an analogy of what has happened in the human personality because of the death of the spirit. In the human system the spirit was meant to play the part of the motor-end plates. It was meant to receive signals sent to it from God. When man sinned, however, the motor-end plate died. Thus, although God is still speaking, the signal is not received and the spiritual life withers.”[1]
Our dead spirits serve quite a fundamentally important purpose: to paraphrase Blaise Pascal, they remind us of that void in our hearts. Or, in the classic words of Augustine, “Thou hast made us for Thyself and our hearts are restless until they find their rest in Thee.” Every spiritual or religious endeavor has as its motive the overwhelming desire to fill this void. Likewise, every ardent search for significance and meaning in life – whether through sex, drugs, money, fame, or anything else – reflects the intensity of this innate longing. Alistair McGrath comments upon the vanity of our search for fulfillment: “[P]leasure, beauty, personal relationships: all seem to promise so much, and yet when we grasp them, we find that what we were seeking was not located in them, but lies beyond them.”[2]
Just as we could not choose the time or place of our physical birth (or even whether or not it would occur), neither are we the architects of our spiritual birth. Such an event is only possible via the gracious quickening of our dead, helpless spirit by the will, the call, and the mighty hand of God. To say that someone has the grace of God is to say that there is something supernatural in the soul, coming from God.[3]
This supernatural something is what Jesus discussed in His conversation with the Pharisee, Nicodemus. “Flesh gives birth to flesh,” He said, “but the Spirit gives birth to spirit (John 3:6).” This is what is meant by the theological term regeneration. Our spirits, dead in sin, are regenerated – brought to life – through the power of the Holy Spirit and at the pleasure and discretion of God alone. Dead men cannot choose regeneration. In fact, “no one,” Jesus declared, “can come to Me unless the Father has enabled him (John 6:65).” Earlier in the same chapter, he says, “no one can come to Me unless the Father who sent me draws him (John 6:44).”
The Greek word translated draws in most English translations is helkuo, which implies a stronger force than our usual understanding of ‘draw.’ It is, actually, the same word used later and translated dragged: “Simon Peter climbed aboard and dragged the net ashore. It was full of large fish, 153, but even with so many the net was not torn (John 21:11).” Likewise, in James 2:6: But you have insulted the poor. Is it not the rich who are exploiting you? Are they not the ones who aredragging you into court?
Likewise, in Jeremiah 31:3 in the Septuagint (the Greek translation of the Old Testament in use at the time of Christ), we read: The LORD appeared to us in the past, saying: I have loved you with an everlasting love; I have drawn you with loving-kindness.
As this last reference indicates, it is with loving-kindness (and not brute force) that we are drawn; but we are drawn, nonetheless: irresistibly, undeniably, and graciously. This drawing commences at the moment of regeneration (it would be pointless to draw a dead man or to encourage a response from him). So we see that the new birth occurs before we exercise faith. We are born again and then we respond by faith. As the eminent Princeton theologian Charles Hodge described, God works a miraculous ‘transplant’ in our lives:
“This doctrine [regeneration] is set forth… in those passages in which God is represented as giving his people a new heart. The heart in Scripture is that which thinks, feels, wills, and acts. It is the soul; the self. A new heart is, therefore, a new self, a new man. It implies a change of the whole character. It is a new nature. [In regeneration] all the faculties of the soul are represented as affected. The mind is illuminated, the eyes of the understanding are opened; the heart is renewed; the will is conquered [and] that man is made willing.”[4] And when we are drawn, we will –
without exception – respond through faith. As Jesus said:
All that the Father gives Me will come to Me, and the one who comes to Me I will by no means cast out. (John 6:37)
We see, then, that regeneration is not the result of our work or even of our faith. Contrary to the popular thought in the evangelical community, we are not born again as a consequence of our belief in God. Rather, we are born again by the inward working of the Holy Spirit upon the hearts of those chosen by God. Then, having new eyes to see the truth of the gospel, we will respond – genuinely, willingly, and certainly – by placing our faith in the Person of Jesus Christ. Such an understanding of the doctrine of regeneration will prevent us from wrongly emphasizing our response, and will retain the fundamental essence of the gospel: that is, that God saves sinners. Sinners do not – indeed, cannot – save themselves. All glory and all praise belong to Him alone. Amen.
[1] James Montgomery Boice, Foundations of the Christian Faith (Downers Grove: InterVarsity, 1986), p. 203.
[2] Alistair McGrath, A Passion for the Truth (Downers Grove, InterVarsity Press, 1996), p. 84.
[3] Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologica, q. 110, a.1
[4] Charles Hodge, Systematic Theology, Vol. III, p. 36.
These words of Augustine set the stage for our discussion of regeneration. Apart from the miracle of regeneration – that is, apart from the grace of God – man is tainted, corrupted in every aspect of his being. This is the condition of unregenerate man.
As to the outer man, the physical body decays, dying cell by cell. Organs fail, bones become brittle and collapse. The mind degenerates; senility sets in, clouding over memories and confusing rational thought. Our days are numbered indeed; and, indeed, the number is not a great one.
The spiritual man, however, has no days at all, initially. It has already died. While the unregenerate possesses a soul (an inner man that will exist forever), it is desperately wicked (Jer. 17:9), and will remain so, by nature. While remnants of the image of God persist (a will, for example, and an intellect), it is a sorely distorted reflection, with every motive and desire hostile to the glory of God. Such a soul has as its nucleus a void where the flames of the spirit were designed to burn and empower, but where now there is only a cold, dark vacuum. In fact, with the notable exceptions of Adam and Eve (and, of course, Jesus), no man has ever entered the world with a living spirit. We were dead in our trespasses and sins (Ephesians 2:1; Colossians 2:13). We are born that way and we will die that way – our best intentions notwithstanding – barring a miraculous intervention from on high. James Montgomery Boice offers this analogy:
“In medicine there is a condition known as myasthenia gravis, in which the muscles of the body cannot respond to the signals being sent to them by the brain. In a normal patient, the brain signals the muscles to contract by sending electrical impulses along the nerves to the muscles where they are received by a special apparatus known as the motor-end plate. The motor-end plate receives the signal and passes it along to the muscle. In those afflicted by myasthenia gravis the end plates are missing. Consequently, although the brain sends the signal, it is never received by the muscle. Because it is not received, the muscle does not respond and eventually shrivels up.
“That is an analogy of what has happened in the human personality because of the death of the spirit. In the human system the spirit was meant to play the part of the motor-end plates. It was meant to receive signals sent to it from God. When man sinned, however, the motor-end plate died. Thus, although God is still speaking, the signal is not received and the spiritual life withers.”[1]
Our dead spirits serve quite a fundamentally important purpose: to paraphrase Blaise Pascal, they remind us of that void in our hearts. Or, in the classic words of Augustine, “Thou hast made us for Thyself and our hearts are restless until they find their rest in Thee.” Every spiritual or religious endeavor has as its motive the overwhelming desire to fill this void. Likewise, every ardent search for significance and meaning in life – whether through sex, drugs, money, fame, or anything else – reflects the intensity of this innate longing. Alistair McGrath comments upon the vanity of our search for fulfillment: “[P]leasure, beauty, personal relationships: all seem to promise so much, and yet when we grasp them, we find that what we were seeking was not located in them, but lies beyond them.”[2]
Just as we could not choose the time or place of our physical birth (or even whether or not it would occur), neither are we the architects of our spiritual birth. Such an event is only possible via the gracious quickening of our dead, helpless spirit by the will, the call, and the mighty hand of God. To say that someone has the grace of God is to say that there is something supernatural in the soul, coming from God.[3]
This supernatural something is what Jesus discussed in His conversation with the Pharisee, Nicodemus. “Flesh gives birth to flesh,” He said, “but the Spirit gives birth to spirit (John 3:6).” This is what is meant by the theological term regeneration. Our spirits, dead in sin, are regenerated – brought to life – through the power of the Holy Spirit and at the pleasure and discretion of God alone. Dead men cannot choose regeneration. In fact, “no one,” Jesus declared, “can come to Me unless the Father has enabled him (John 6:65).” Earlier in the same chapter, he says, “no one can come to Me unless the Father who sent me draws him (John 6:44).”
The Greek word translated draws in most English translations is helkuo, which implies a stronger force than our usual understanding of ‘draw.’ It is, actually, the same word used later and translated dragged: “Simon Peter climbed aboard and dragged the net ashore. It was full of large fish, 153, but even with so many the net was not torn (John 21:11).” Likewise, in James 2:6: But you have insulted the poor. Is it not the rich who are exploiting you? Are they not the ones who aredragging you into court?
Likewise, in Jeremiah 31:3 in the Septuagint (the Greek translation of the Old Testament in use at the time of Christ), we read: The LORD appeared to us in the past, saying: I have loved you with an everlasting love; I have drawn you with loving-kindness.
As this last reference indicates, it is with loving-kindness (and not brute force) that we are drawn; but we are drawn, nonetheless: irresistibly, undeniably, and graciously. This drawing commences at the moment of regeneration (it would be pointless to draw a dead man or to encourage a response from him). So we see that the new birth occurs before we exercise faith. We are born again and then we respond by faith. As the eminent Princeton theologian Charles Hodge described, God works a miraculous ‘transplant’ in our lives:
“This doctrine [regeneration] is set forth… in those passages in which God is represented as giving his people a new heart. The heart in Scripture is that which thinks, feels, wills, and acts. It is the soul; the self. A new heart is, therefore, a new self, a new man. It implies a change of the whole character. It is a new nature. [In regeneration] all the faculties of the soul are represented as affected. The mind is illuminated, the eyes of the understanding are opened; the heart is renewed; the will is conquered [and] that man is made willing.”[4] And when we are drawn, we will –
without exception – respond through faith. As Jesus said:
All that the Father gives Me will come to Me, and the one who comes to Me I will by no means cast out. (John 6:37)
We see, then, that regeneration is not the result of our work or even of our faith. Contrary to the popular thought in the evangelical community, we are not born again as a consequence of our belief in God. Rather, we are born again by the inward working of the Holy Spirit upon the hearts of those chosen by God. Then, having new eyes to see the truth of the gospel, we will respond – genuinely, willingly, and certainly – by placing our faith in the Person of Jesus Christ. Such an understanding of the doctrine of regeneration will prevent us from wrongly emphasizing our response, and will retain the fundamental essence of the gospel: that is, that God saves sinners. Sinners do not – indeed, cannot – save themselves. All glory and all praise belong to Him alone. Amen.
[1] James Montgomery Boice, Foundations of the Christian Faith (Downers Grove: InterVarsity, 1986), p. 203.
[2] Alistair McGrath, A Passion for the Truth (Downers Grove, InterVarsity Press, 1996), p. 84.
[3] Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologica, q. 110, a.1
[4] Charles Hodge, Systematic Theology, Vol. III, p. 36.