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Showing posts with label Synergism. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Synergism. Show all posts

Monday, April 6, 2015

Romans 9 and Patristic Quotes on Free Will

This post is in response to a conversation concerning Calvinist and Orthodox (and Arminian) views of God's sovereignty. My fellow theologian and conversation partner Mitch asked me for an alternate interpretation of Romans 9 (which he takes to be a strong support for Calvinistic theology) in light of my Orthodox view. (Which is somewhat different from the Arminian interpretation I described a few years ago) So, here is my attempt to lay one out, relying as little on my own words and as much on the words of the church fathers as possible. I will especially be drawing from St. John Chrysostom's sermon on the chapter, with quotations from other church fathers to show that his views on free will are essentially Orthodox.

[1] I am speaking the truth in Christ, I am not lying; my conscience bears me witness in the Holy Spirit,

Coming off the marvelous crescendo of Romans 8, Paul is moving on to things even higher and more glorious, but also harder to believe.
For as on the point of entering upon greater things than those, and therefore liable to be disbelieved by the generality, he first uses a strong asseveration about the matter he is going to speak of; which many are in the habit of doing when they are going to say somewhat which is not believed by the generality, and about which they feel the utmost certainty in their own minds. Hence he says, "I say the truth in Christ, I lie not, and my conscience beareth witness."
[2] that I have great sorrow and unceasing anguish in my heart. [3] For I could wish that I myself were accursed and cut off from Christ for the sake of my brethren, my kinsmen by race.

Despite his own conviction of security in Christ as he just expressed in chapter 8, Paul shockingly expresses his willingness to be accursed, cut off from his Lord and Savior? This is not a proclamation of some impossibly high kind of asceticism that gains Christ to the utmost by renouncing him, but a humble declaration of concern for his brethren, the Jews, and still more for the name of his God.

[4] They are Israelites, and to them belong the sonship, the glory, the covenants, the giving of the law, the worship, and the promises; [5] to them belong the patriarchs, and of their race, according to the flesh, is the Christ. God who is over all be blessed for ever. Amen.

Why does Paul wish to be accursed only for the sake of the Jews and not the Gentiles as well? According to Chrysostom, he is responding in particular to blasphemy directed against God that after being the chosen race of God for so long, after receiving the Law and the Temple and the Prophets and all the promises of God (which indeed speak of Christ), having descended from the patriarchs and being ancestors of Christ himself, the Jews are now apparently cast off and forgotten, replaced by the Gentiles who have never known God.
Now since they said all this, and blasphemed God, Paul, hearing it and being cut to the heart, and vexed for God's glory's sake, wished that he were accursed, had it been possible, so that they might be saved, and this blasphemy be put a stop to, and God might not seem to have deceived the offspring of those to whom He promised the gifts. And that you may see that it was in sorrow for this, that the promise of God might not seem to fall to the ground, which said to Abraham, "I will give this land to thee and to thy seed," that he uttered this wish, he proceeds,
In these verses Paul also foreshadows his later defense of God's righteousness: the Jews are accursed not because of any failure on God's part to save them but because of their own rejection of God's saving promises and coming in the flesh, which assumes a patristic, synergistic notion of free will.
For when he says, 'to whom pertaineth the adoption, and the glory, and the giving of the Law, and the service of God, and the promises,' he does but say that God willed them indeed to be saved, and this he showed by his former dealings, and by Christ's having sprung from them, and by what he promised to the Fathers. But they out of their own untreatable temper thrust the benefit away from them.
By focusing on the Jews in particular, Chrysostom argues that Paul is actually showing himself willing to be accursed purely for Christ's glory, since the apostasy of the Jews is the source of blasphemy directed against God whereas the condition of the Gentiles is not the ground for such blasphemy. Though not lacking in concern for the Jews or for the Gentiles, Paul's radical abnegation here is based most completely on his concern for God's glory and for ending the blasphemy against it.

[6] But it is not as though the word of God had failed.

Paul is not speaking as though the word of God has failed and he needs to rehabilitate it, but simply out of love for Christ. The foundational promise of God that has not failed is the one made to Abraham: "To thee and thy seed I will give the land," and "in thy seed shall all the nations of the earth be blessed." (Gen 12:7,3) So Paul next moves on to examine what kind of seed God spoke of in his promise.

For not all who are descended from Israel belong to Israel,

Or, as Chrysostom explains it, "it is not all that are from [Abraham] that are his seed," the seed the promise spoke of. So then who are the seed?

[7] and not all are children of Abraham because they are his descendants; but "Through Isaac shall your descendants be named."
Now when you come to know of what kind the seed of Abraham is, you will see that the promise is given to his seed, and know that the word hath not fallen to the ground. Of what kind, pray, is the seed then? It is no saying of mine, but the Old Testament itself explains itself by saying as follows, "In Isaac shall they seed be called." (Gen 21:12)
And what is meant by "In Isaac"?

[8] This means that it is not the children of the flesh who are the children of God, but the children of the promise are reckoned as descendants.

Paul does not merely say that the children of the flesh are not the children of Abraham, but of God, "blending the former things with the present and showing that even Isaac was not merely Abraham's son."
And what he means is something of this sort: as many as have been born as Isaac was, they are sons of God, and of the seed of Abraham. And this is why he said, "in Isaac shall thy seed be called." That one may learn that they who are born after the fashion of Isaac, these are in the truest sense Abraham's children. In what way was Isaac born then? Not according to the law of nature, not according to the power of the flesh, but according to the power of the promise. What is meant then by the power of "the promise"?
[9] For this is what the promise said, "About this time I will return and Sarah shall have a son."

It was not the power of Sarah's dead womb that begat Isaac, but the word, the promise, of God.
Thus are we also gendered [i.e. created, conceived] by the words of God. Since in the pool of water [i.e. baptism] it is the words of God which generate and fashion us. For it is by being baptized into the Name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost that we are gendered. And this birth is not of nature, but of the promise of God. (John 3:3, Eph 5:26, Jas 1:18, 1 Pet 3:21)
So those born (or reborn) of God's promise are the seed of Abraham to whom the promise pertains. It is through baptism, not natural birth, that we are made "children of the promise". If God's promise, "In Isaac your seed will be called", simply meant that those born to Isaac would be the "seed of Abraham", then of course Esau and the Edomites would be included as well as the Israelites, which is apparently not the case.
You see then that it is not the children of the flesh that are the children of God, but that even in nature itself the generation by means of baptism from above was sketched our beforehand.
[10] And not only so, but also when Rebecca had conceived children by one man, our forefather Isaac,

Paul turns to another example to further his point, since it is a difficult one for his Jewish interlocutor (who, remember, takes the estrangement of the Jews from Christ to mean that God's promises to his people have failed, or that Christ is not really the Savior Paul makes him out to be) to accept. It is as though a king's son who had been promised succession to the throne were cast out and a condemned, evil man were to become king instead. If the son was unworthy, then how much more the condemned man! They ought to have been honored or punished together. "Now it was something of this sort," says Chrysostom, "which befell the Jews and the Gentiles, or something far more strange then this." Paul has already established that all were unworthy in the first few chapters of this epistle, as summed up in his assertion that "all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God." (3:23)
But the new thing is, that when all were unworthy, the Gentiles were saved alone. And beside this there is another difficulty that some one may start, he says. If God had no intention of fulfilling the promises to them, why make them at all? For men who know not the future, and are many times deceived, do promise even the undeserving that they shall have their largesses. But He Who knoweth beforehand things to come as well as things present, and hath a clear knowledge that they will make themselves undeserving of the promises, and therefore will not receive any of the things specified,—why should He promise at all? Now what is Paul’s way of meeting all this? It is by showing what the Israel is to whom He made the promise. For when this has been shown, there is at the same time demonstrated the fact that the promises were all fulfilled. And to point this out he said, “For they are not all Israel that are of Israel.”
In short, Paul shows that the promises of God have not failed by clarifying who the true "Israel" was to whom the promises were made. Israel has always been defined by the promises of God more truly than by genealogy. Using examples from the Old Testament, he shows that the Jews already don't believe that participation in the promises of God is simply a function of natural descent.
Why do you feel surprised, he means, that some of the Jews were saved, and some not saved at this time? Why of old, in the patriarch’s times, one may see this happening. For why was Isaac only called the seed, and yet he was the father of Ishmael also, and of several others.
But lest anyone should discount the other children of Abraham, since they were born to mothers who were slaves, Paul introduces a clearer example.

[11] though they were not yet born and had done nothing either good or bad, in order that God's purpose of election might continue, not because of works but because of his call, [12] she was told, "The elder will serve the younger." [13] As it is written, "Jacob I loved, but Esau I hated."

Here is where Chrysostom really starts to diverge from a Reformed interpretation.
What was the cause then why one was loved and the other hated? why was it that one served, the other was served? It was because one was wicked, and the other good.
Paul specifically mentions God's election being before Jacob and Easu were born and before they had done anything good or bad not to imply that God pays no attention to righteousness or works, but
Because He doth not wait, as man doth, to see from the issue of their acts the good and him who is not so, but even before these He knoweth which is the wicked and which not such. And this took place in the Israelites’ case also, in a still more wonderful way. Why, he says, do I speak of Esau and of Jacob, of whom one was wicked and the other good? For in the Israelites’ case, the sin belonged to all, since they all worshipped the calf. Yet notwithstanding some had mercy shown them, and others had not.
For Chrysostom, God's election is based not on some inscrutable, impenetrable, unconditional counsel known only to him, but on his omniscience, his perfect knowledge of things we glimpse only dimly and incompletely, if at all. Jacob was chosen over Esau before birth because God foreknew the former's uprightness and his brother's wickedness. The mystery of God's foreknowledge is even deeper in the case of the Israelites, who all worshipped the calf together, yet some experienced mercy; to this example Paul will later return.

Returning to Jacob and Esau, Chrysostom says:
For they were both sprung from Rebecca, and from Isaac the true-born, the elect, the son honored above all, of whom He said, “In Isaac shall thy seed be called,” who became “the father of us all;” but if he was our father, then should his sons have been our fathers; yet it was not so. You see how this happens not in Abraham’s case only, but also in that of his son himself, and how it is faith and virtue in all cases that is conspicuous, and gives the real relationship its character. For hence we learn that it is not only from the manner of birth, but owing to their being worthy of the father’s virtue, that the children are called children of him. For if it were only owing to the manner of the birth, then ought Esau to have enjoyed the same as Jacob did. For he also was from a womb as good as dead, and his mother was barren. Yet this was not the only thing required, but the character too, which fact contributes no common amount of practical instruction for us. And he does not say that one is good and another bad, and so the former was honored; lest this kind of argument should be wielded against him, “What, are those of the Gentiles good men rather than those of the circumcision?” For even supposing the truth of the matter was so, still he does not state it yet, as that would have seemed to be vexatious. But it is upon God’s knowledge that he has cast the whole, and this no one would venture to gainsay, though he were ever so frantic. “For the children being not yet born,” he says, “it was said unto her, The elder shall serve the younger.” And he shows that noble birth after the flesh is of no avail, but we must seek for virtue of soul, which even before the works of it God knoweth of. For “the children,” he says, “being not yet born, nor having done any good or evil, that the purpose of God according to election might stand, it was said unto her that the elder shall serve the younger:” for this was a sign of foreknowledge, that they were chosen from the very birth. That the election made according to foreknowledge, might be manifestly of God, from the first day He at once saw and proclaimed which was good and which not.
Again, Paul is not contrasting election conditioned on human descent with unconditional election, but with election conditioned on foreknown "faith and virtue". The sovereignty of God is displayed in the election of Jacob not for its sheer unconditionality (which Chrysostom does not seem to have any concern for), but in its prophetic, foreknowing nature; God knows the breadth of the twins' lives before they are born, and so promises to Rebecca, "the older will serve the younger." The incomprehensibility of God's election, its being beyond human questioning, is not because it is based solely on a mysterious, unknowable secret counsel of God, but because God sees all, knows all, and judges justly, not according to the fallible judgments of men.
For He that knoweth how to assay the soul, knoweth which is worthy of being saved. Yield then to the incomprehensibleness of the election. For it is He alone Who knoweth how to crown aright. How many, for instance, seemed better than St. Matthew; to go by the exhibition of works then visible. But He that knoweth things undeclared, and is able to assay the mind’s aptitude, knew the pearl though lying in the mire, and after passing by others, and being well pleased with the beauty of this, He elected it, and by adding to the noble born free-will grace from Himself, He made it approved.
Chrysostom brings in the apostle Matthew, a tax collector reviled by men but chosen by God, as yet another example. God is the great assayer who sees beneath the surface to the treasures of the heart hidden from men—but that treasure really does matter! The last sentence contains a point that Chrysostom dwells on less but is also important: though God is pleased with the faithful and virtuous exercise of our will, he is never satisfied with it; it is in need of completion and perfection by his grace to be fully acceptable. This is the Orthodox doctrine of synergism. Chrysostom further describes God's superior insight:
For if in the case of these arts which are perishable, and indeed in other matters, those that are good judges do not use the grounds on which the uninstructed form their decision, in selecting out of what is put before them; but from points which they are themselves well aware of, they many times disparage that which the uninstructed approve, and decide upon what they disparage: and horse-breakers often do this with horses, and so the judges of precious stones, and workmen in other arts: much more will the God that loveth man, the infinite Wisdom, Who alone hath a clear knowledge of all things, not allow of man’s guesses, but will out of His own exact and unfailing Wisdom pass his sentence upon all men. Hence it was that He chose the publican, the thief, and the harlot; but dishonored priests, and elders, and rulers, and cast them out. And this one may see happening in the martyrs’ case also. Many accordingly of those who were utterly cast aside, have in the time of trial been crowned. And, on the other hand, some that have been held great ones by many have stumbled and fallen.
God's judgment is beyond our own not because it is simply unconditional, but because our knowledge and understanding are limited by our finitude. Though it may seem strange or unfair to us, we can trust that God's counsel is wholly just.
Do not then call the Creator to account, nor say, Why is it that one was crowned and another punished? For He knoweth how to do these things with exactness. Whence also he says, “Jacob have I loved, and Esau have I hated.” That it was with justice, you indeed know from the result: but Himself even before the result knew it clearly. For it is not a mere exhibition of works that God searcheth after, but a nobleness of choice and an obedient temper besides.
[14] What shall we say then? Is there injustice on God's part? By no means!
Hence there is no such thing in the case of us and the Jews. And then he goes on with another thing, a more clear than this. And of what sort is it?
[15] For he says to Moses, "I will have mercy on whom I have mercy, and I will have compassion on whom I have compassion."

The context is now that of the exodus, and the Jews' worship of the golden calf, which took place in the chapter right before Paul's quotation of Exodus 33:19. In the case of Jacob and Esau virtue and vice may be the deciding factor, but in this case
there was one sin in which all the Jews joined, that of the molten calf, and still some were punished and some were not punished. And this is why He says, “I will have mercy on whom I will have mercy, and I will have compassion on whom I will have compassion.” (Exo 33:19: observe context.)
But even in this case God's judgment is not unconditional, but only incomprehensible to us. Moses' modesty in the face of God's ways should induce us to be all the more modest.
For it is not thine to know, O Moses, he means, which are deserving of My love toward man, but leave this to Me. But if Moses had no right to know, much less have we. And this is why he did not barely quote the passage, but also called to our minds to whom it was said. For it is Moses, he means, that he is speaking to, that at least by the dignity of the person he might make the objector modest.
[16] So it depends not upon man's will or exertion, but upon God's mercy.

Chrysostom actually comments on this verse more in a tangent during one of his sermons on Hebrews, chapter 7:
Wherefore we ought always to "guard ourselves, lest at any time we should fall asleep. For "lo" (it is said) "he that keepeth Israel shall neither slumber nor sleep" (Psa 121:4) and "Do not suffer thy foot to be moved." (Psa 121:3) He did not say, "be not moved", but "do not thou suffer," &c. The suffering depends then on ourselves and not on any other. For if we shall stand "steadfast and unmovable" (1 Cor 15:58), we shall not be shaken.
What then? Does nothing depend on God? All indeed depends on God, but not so that our free-will is hindered. "If it then depend on God," (one says) "why does He blame us?" On this account I said, "so that our free-will is not hindered." It depends then on us, and on Him. For we must first choose the good; and then He leads us to His own. He does not anticipate our choice, lest our free-will should be outraged. But when we have chosen, then great is the assistance he brings to us.
How is it then that Paul says, "not of him that willeth," if it depend on ourselves also "nor of him that runneth, but of God that showeth mercy?" (Rom 9:16)
In the first place, he did not introduced it as his own opinion, but inferred it from what was before him and from what had been put forward [in the discussion]. For after saying, "I will have mercy on whom I will have mercy, and I will have compassion on whom I will have compassion" (Rom 9:15), he says, "It follows then that it is not of him that willeth, nor of him that runneth, but of God that showeth mercy." "Thou wilt say then unto me, why doth He yet find fault?" (Rom 9:16,19)
And secondly the other explanation may be given, that he speaks of all as His, whose the greater part is. For it is ours to choose and to wish; but God's to complete and to bring to an end. Since therefore the greater part is of Him, he says all is of Him, speaking according to the custom of men. For so we ourselves also do. I mean for instance: we see a house well built and we say that the whole is the Architect's [doing], and yet certainly it is not all his, but the workmen's also, and the owner's, who supplies the materials, and many others', but nevertheless since he contributed the greatest share, we call the whole his. So then [it is] in this case also. Again, with respect to a number of people, where the many are, we say All are: where few, nobody. So also Paul says, "not of him that willeth, nor of him that runneth, but of God that showeth mercy."
And herein he establishes two great truths: one, that we should not be lifted up: even shouldst thou run (he would say), even shouldst thou be very earnest, do not consider that the well doing is thine own. For if thou obtain not the impulse that is from above, all is to no purpose. Nevertheless that thou wilt attain that which thou earnestly strivest after is very evidence; so long as thou runnest, so long as thou willest.
He did not then assert this, that we run in vain, but that, if we think the whole to be our own, if we do not assign the greater part to God, we run in vain. For neither hath God willed that the whole should be His, lest He should appear to be crowning us without cause: nor again ours, lest we should call away to pride. For if when we have the smaller [share], we think much of ourselves, what should we do if the whole depended on us?
In other words, Paul is not making a dogmatic statement of monergism despite all that he has said of freedom and human responsibility elsewhere. Rather, he is using a bit of hyperbole to emphasize that the grace of God is far more important and decisive than anything we can do, as a rebuke to anyone who thinks he is saved by his own striving alone. As Paul similarly says of himself in relation to the other apostles, "I worked harder than any of them, though it was not I, but the grace of God which is with me." (1 Cor 15:10) Paul is not of course saying that he was entirely passive in his becoming an apostle, but ascribing all the glory and credit to God the author and perfecter of his faith, humbly giving no credit to his own effort.

Also notice how in the last paragraph Chrysostom mentions the dangers of both Pelagianism and monergism: the former leads to pride and makes all of our running and striving in vain (for without the grace of God we are nothing); the latter makes his blessing arbitrary and purposeless.

[17] For the scripture says to Pharaoh, "I have raised you up for the very purpose of showing my power in you, so that my name may be proclaimed in all the earth."

Paul makes the same point again with the pharaoh of the Exodus, then urges the same objection more strongly:

[18] So then he has mercy upon whomever he wills, and he hardens the heart of whomever he wills. [19] You will say to me then, "Why does he still find fault? For who can resist his will?"

Yet he does not answer this charge immediately, "but he first stops the disputant's mouth, saying as follows,"

[20] But who are you, a man, to answer back to God?
This he does to take down the objector’s unseasonable inquisitiveness, and excessive curiosity, and to put a check upon it, and teach him to know what God is, and what man, and how incomprehensible His foreknowledge is, and how far above our reason, and how obedience to Him in all points is binding. ... And he does not say, it is impossible to answer questions of this kind, but that it is presumptuous to raise them. For our business is to obey what God does, not to be curious even if we do not know the reason of them. Wherefore he said, “Who art thou that repliest against God?”
Yet having made this point, Paul does not simply leave his interlocutor with a rebuke, but goes on to answer.

Will what is molded say to its molder, "Why have you made me thus?" [21] Has the potter no right over the clay, to make out of the same lump one vessel for beauty and another for menial use?
Here it is not to do away with free-will that he says this, but to show, up to what point we ought to obey God. For in respect of calling God to account, we ought to be as little disposed to it as the clay is. For we ought to abstain not from gainsaying or questioning only, but even from speaking or thinking of it at all, and to become like that lifeless matter, which followeth the potter’s hands, and lets itself be drawn about anywhere he may please.
Chrysostom cautions against pushing the potter-clay metaphor too far, giving some examples of other biblical metaphors for God that must be read discerningly.
And this is the only point he applied the illustration to, not, that is, to any enunciation of the rule of life, but to the complete obedience and silence enforced upon us. And this we ought to observe in all cases, that we are not to take the illustrations quite entire, but after selecting the good of them, and that for which they were introduced, to let the rest alone. As, for instance, when he says, “He couched, he lay down as a lion;” (Num 24:9) let us take out the indomitable and fearful part, not the brutality, nor any other of the things belonging to a lion. And again, when He says, “I will meet them as a bereaved bear” (Hos 13:8), let us take the vindictiveness. And when he says, “our God is a consuming fire” (Deu 4:24, Heb 13:29), the wasting power exerted in punishing.
So with the potter-clay analogy, which Paul is not using so much to describe the way things simply are with God's sovereignty as they way things should be with us and him. He raises the oft-made point (all the more convincing by coming from the mouth of a fourth-century church father) that making God the sole determiner of man's willing would make him into the author of evil and the one really responsible for sin.
So also here must we single out the clay, the potter, and the vessels. And when he does go on to say, “Hath not the potter power over the clay, of the same lump to make one vessel unto honor, and another unto dishonor?” do not suppose that this is said by Paul as an account of the creation, nor as implying a necessity over the will, but to illustrate the sovereignty and difference of dispensations; for if we do not take it in this way, divers incongruities will follow, for if here he were speaking about the will, and those who are good and those not so, He will be Himself the Maker of these, and man will be free from all responsibility. And at this rate, Paul will also be shown to be at variance with himself, as he always bestows chief honor upon free choice. There is nothing else then which he here wishes to do, save to persuade the hearer to yield entirely to God, and at no time to call Him to account for anything whatever.
What Paul is saying here must be understood within the context of the freedom with which God has made us. We are not simply (by nature) passive lumps of clay determined in every way by God's will, but through the use of our free will to obediently submit to our Maker, we are to become as lumps to clay, allowing him to reshape our wills to follow after his. The one who attempts to gainsay God's decisions (like the one who protests the apparent injustice of the election of the Gentiles and the casting off of the Jews) is resisting his will rather than becoming clay in the potter's hands.
For as the potter (he says) of the same lump makes what he pleaseth, and no one forbids it; thus also when God, of the same race of men, punisheth some, and honoreth others, be not thou curious nor meddlesome herein, but worship only, and imitate the clay. And as it followeth the hands of the potter, so do thou also the mind of Him that so ordereth things. For He worketh nothing at random, or mere hazard, though thou be ignorant of the secret of His Wisdom. Yet thou allowest the other of the same lump to make divers things, and findest no fault: but of Him you demand an account of His punishments and honors, and will not allow Him to know who is worthy and who is not so; but since the same lump is of the same substance, you assert that there are the same dispositions. And, how monstrous this is! And yet not even is it on the potter that the honor and the dishonor of the things made of the lump depends, but upon the use made by those that handle them, so here also it depends on the free choice.
Yet Paul has not yet given his ultimate answer to the objection. He has simply rebuked the unyielding attitude of of the one who calls God's justice into question. But this does not mean that no answer can be known. Now Paul gives his answer.

[22] What if God, desiring to show his wrath and to make known his power, has endured with much patience the vessels of wrath made for destruction, [23] in order to make known the riches of his glory for the vessels of mercy, which he has prepared beforehand for glory, [24] even us whom he has called, not from the Jews only but also from the Gentiles?
What he means is somewhat as follows. Pharaoh was a vessel of wrath, that is, a man who by his own hard-heartedness had kindled the wrath of God. For after enjoying much long-suffering, he became no better, but remained unimproved. Wherefore he calleth him not only “a vessel of wrath,” but also one “fitted for destruction.” That is, fully fitted indeed, but by his own proper self. For neither had God left out aught of the things likely to recover him, nor did he leave out aught of those that would ruin him, and put him beyond any forgiveness. Yet still, though God knew this, “He endured him with much long-suffering,” being willing to bring him to repentance. For had He not willed this, then He would not have been thus long-suffering. But as he would not use the long-suffering in order to repentance, but fully fitted himself for wrath, He used him for the correction of others, through the punishment inflicted upon him making them better, and in this way setting forth His power.
God's hardening of Pharaoh's heart did not take place apart from the Pharaoh's own hard-heartedness. Pharaoh became hard-hearted in spite of God's longsuffering patience with him, and so made himself into a "vessel of wrath". Though God did use this hard-heartedness as part of the Israelites' salvation, he does not wish for anyone to perish but for everyone to repent. (2 Pet 3:9) Pharaoh became a "vessel of destruction" on his own, not at any urging on God's part (though perhaps in wrongheaded response to his mercy). God has no need to manifest his power or glory through wrath; his wrath does not display anything in his nature that is not glimpsed more fully through his grace.
For that it is not God’s wish that His power be so made known [by his wrath], but in another way, by His benefits, namely, and kindnesses, he had shown above in all possible ways. For if Paul does not wish to appear powerful in this way (“not that we should appear approved,” he says, “but that ye should do that which is honest,”) (2 Cor 13:7), much less doth God.
In relation to verse 23, Chrysostom raises another familiar objection to theological determinism, that if the God really were meticulously sovereign over everything, then of course all men would be saved, since God wishes to save all men.
But in saying, “which He had afore prepared unto glory,” he does not mean that all is God’s doing. Since if this were so, there were nothing to hinder all men from being saved.
But instead, it means God's foreknowledge of and assent to the faith of the subset of the Jews (and of the Gentiles) who are saved.
But he is setting forth again His foreknowledge, and doing away with the difference between the Jews and the Gentiles. And on this topic again he grounds a defence of his statement, which is no small one. For it was not in the case of the Jews only that some men perished, and some were saved, but with the Gentiles also this was the case. Wherefore he does not say, all the Gentiles, but, “of the Gentiles,” nor, all the Jews, but, “of the Jews.” As then Pharaoh became a vessel of wrath by his own lawlessness, so did these become vessels of mercy by their own readiness to obey. For though the more part is of God, still they also have contributed themselves some little.
Talking about Paul's use of sweeping, total statements (which on their face seem to point toward monergism), Chrysostom reminds us of the need to read them within their theological context, and to recognize rhetorical hyperbole when we see it, as he did in the homily on Hebrews 7. The purpose of such statements is not to absolve man of all responsibility, but to break down pride and transform it to conscious dependence on God's grace for salvation.
Whence he does not say either, vessels of well-doing, or vessels of boldness (παρρησίας), but “vessels of mercy,” to show that the whole is of God. For the phrase, “it is not of him that willeth, nor of him that runneth,” even if it comes in the course of the objection, still, were it said by Paul, would create no difficulty. Because when he says, “it is not of him that willeth, nor of him that runneth,” he does not deprive us of free-will, but shows that all is not one’s own, for that it requires grace from above. For it is binding on us to will, and also to run: but to confide not in our own labors, but in the love of God toward man. And this he has expressed elsewhere. “Yet not I, but the grace which was with me.” (1 Cor 15:10)
In summary: God patiently shows mercy to all, calls all to repentance, wishes for all to be saved, and his goodness is clearly manifested in this. Those who are not redeemed find such a fate because of their own will, their rejection of the call, not because of any prior decree on God's part.
Whence then are some vessels of wrath, and some of mercy? Of their own free choice. God, however, being very good, shows the same kindness to both. For it was not those in a state of salvation only to whom He showed mercy, but also Pharaoh, as far as His part went. For of the same long-suffering, both they and he had the advantage. And if he was not saved, it was quite owing to his own will: since, as for what concerneth God, he had as much done for him as they who were saved. 
Now if all have sinned, how come some to be saved, and some to perish? It is because all were not minded to come to Him, since for His part all were saved, for all were called. 
In support of this answer, Paul next turns to the Old Testament.

[25] As indeed he says in Hose'a, "Those who were not my people I will call 'my people,' and her who was not beloved I will call 'my beloved.'"
Here to prevent their saying, that you are deceiving us here with specious reasoning, he calls Hosea to witness, who crieth and saith, “I will call them My people, who were not My people.” (Hos 2:23) Who then are the not-people? Plainly, the Gentiles. And who the not-beloved? The same again. However, he says, that they shall become at once people, and beloved, and sons of God.
[26] "And in the very place where it was said to them, 'You are not my people,' they will be called 'sons of the living God.'"
But if they should assert that this was said of those of the Jews who believed, even then the argument stands. For if with those who after so many benefits were hard-hearted and estranged, and had lost their being as a people, so great a change was wrought, what is there to prevent even those who were not estranged after being taken to Him, but were originally aliens, from being called, and, provided they obey, from being counted worthy of the same blessings?
Next, Isaiah:

[27] And Isaiah cries out concerning Israel: "Though the number of the sons of Israel be as the sand of the sea, only a remnant of them will be saved;
Do you see that he too does not say that all are to be saved, but that those that are worthy shall? For I regard not the multitude, he means, nor does a race diffused so far distress me, but those only do I save that yield themselves worthy of it. And he does not mention the “sand of the sea” without a reason, but to remind them of the ancient promise whereof they had made themselves unworthy. Why then are you troubled, as though the promise had failed, when all the Prophets show that it is not all that are to be saved?
[28] for the Lord will execute his sentence upon the earth with rigor and dispatch."

Chrysostom here connects the expediency of the promised salvation with the easy yoke of faith in Christ, in contrast with the burden of the law.

[29] And as Isaiah predicted, "If the Lord of hosts had not left us children, we would have fared like Sodom and been made like Gomor'rah."

Another reminder of the necessity of divine grace:
Here again he shows another thing, that not even those few were saved from their own resources. For they too would have perished, and met with Sodom’s fate, that is, they would have had to undergo utter destruction (for they (of Sodom) were also destroyed root and branch, and left not even the slightest remnant of themselves,) and they too, he means, would have been like these, unless God had used much kindness to them, and had saved them by faith. And this happened also in the case of the visible captivity, the majority having been taken away captive and perished, and some few only being saved.
[30] What shall we say, then? That Gentiles who did not pursue righteousness have attained it, that is, righteousness through faith; [31] but that Israel who pursued the righteousness which is based on law did not succeed in fulfilling that law.

After making his case from the basic historical facts, from the lives of the patriarchs, and from the prophets, Paul gives his most decisive answer. But first he presents the objection in its strongest form, as three questions or problems:
that the Gentiles found righteousness, and found it without following after it, and found a  [righteousness] greater than that of the Law. These same difficulties are again felt in the Jews’ case with an opposite view. That Israel did not find, and though he took pains he did not find, and did not find even the less. Having then thrust his hearer into perplexity, he proceeds to give a concise answer, and tells him the cause of all that is said. When then is the cause?
Now Paul gives his clearest answer:

[32] Why? Because they did not pursue it through faith, but as if it were based on works. They have stumbled over the stumbling stone,
This is the clearest answer in the passage, which if he had said immediately upon starting, he would not have gained so easy a hearing. But since it is after many perplexities, and preparations, and demonstrations that he sets it down, and after using countless preparatory steps, he has at last made it more intelligible, and also more easily admitted. For this he says is the cause of their destruction: “Because it was not by faith, but as it were by the works of the Law,” that they wished to be justified. And he does not say, “by works,” but, “as it were by the works of the Law,” to show that they had not even this righteousness.
[33] as it is written, "Behold, I am laying in Zion a stone that will make men stumble, a rock that will make them fall; and he who believes in him will not be put to shame."

Once more, the laying of the "stumbling stone" (that is, Christ) is not intended to make anyone fall away; Jesus is the "rock of offense" from the point of view of those who reject him of their own desire.
You see again how it is from faith that the boldness comes, and the gift is universal; since it is not of the Jews only that this is said, but also of the whole human race. For every one, he would say, whether Jew, or Grecian, or Scythian, or Thracian, or whatsoever else he may be, will, if he believes, enjoy the privilege of great boldness. But the wonder in the Prophet is that he foretells not only that they should believe, but also that they should not believe. For to stumble is to disbelieve. As in the former passage he points out them that perish and them that are saved, where he says, “If the number of the children of Israel be as the sand of the sea, the remnant shall be saved. And, If the Lord of Sabaoth [Hosts] had not left us a seed, we should have been as Sodoma.” And, “He hath called not of the Jews only, but also of the Gentiles;” so here too he implies that some will believe, and some will stumble. But stumbling comes of not taking heed, of gaping after other things. Since then they did give heed to the Law, they stumbled on the stone, “And a stone of stumbling and rock of offence” he calls it from the character and end of those that believe not.
Earlier in the sermon, Chrysostom connects this chapter with the next and offers a fitting conclusion:
Now tell me, O thou Jew, that hast so many perplexing questions, and art unable to answer any of them, how thou comest to annoy us on account of the call of the Gentiles? I, however, have a good reason to give you why the Gentiles were justified and ye were cast out. And what is the reason? It is that they are of faith, ye of the works of the Law. And it is owing to this obstinacy of yours that ye have in every way been given up. For, “they being ignorant of God’s righteousness, and going about to establish their own righteousness, have not submitted themselves unto the righteousness of God.” (Rom 10:3) The clearing up then of the whole passage, to give the whole sense summarily, is here brought out by that blessed person. But that this may be clearer, let us investigate the things he says also one by one; this knowing, that what the blessed Paul aimed at was, to show by all that he said that God only knoweth who are worthy, and no man whatever knoweth, even if he seem to know ever so well, but that in this sentence of his there are sundry aberrations. For He that knoweth the secrets of the hearts, He only knoweth for a certainty who deserve a crown, and who punishment and vengeance. Hence it is that many of those, by men esteemed good, He convicts and punishes, and those suspected to be bad He crowns, after showing it not to be so; thus forming his sentence not after the judgment of us slaves, but after his own keen and uncorrupt decision, and not waiting for the issue of actions to look at the wicked and him who is not so therefrom.

Contrasts

A few of my own thoughts and reflections on Chrysostom's sermon. Paul's subject, it should be noted, is the fate of the Jews and the apparent indictment on God's faithful righteousness it presents, and it remains so throughout the chapter (and the next two). I have heard Calvinist expositions of this chapter that make Paul out to be using the situation of Israel as a lead-in to a philosophical discussion of free will and determinism. Yet even in verses 18-24, Paul's teaching of the sovereignty of God's judgments has the plight of his kinsmen in mind. In light of this, I find it hard to believe that Paul's answer to the blasphemies being directed against God is that God never planned to save all of Israel (as the Jews believed, and for good reason) but only some (apparently a very small subset), and some Gentiles besides. Rather, through Christ the call to salvation has gone out to all nations through Israel, and he is ready to grant forgiveness and eternal life to all who answer it. The Jews do not attain righteousness because they stumbled over the stumbling stone, because they set up their (God-given) law as the way to take hold of salvation over against faith in the law-giver—not because God simply did not desire to save them. Chrysostom simply takes it as a given (as do all Orthodox) that God desires the salvation of all men. To the mind of the Orthodox Church as expressed by Chrysostom, unconditional election is quite obviously a non-answer.

In regard to God's judgment, according to Chrysostom God does not arbitrarily will to save some and condemn others by an inscrutable, mysterious, unconditional divine decree. Rather, Paul is defending God's prerogative as the just, all-wise judge who sees the heart and not just the exterior, and whose judgments are thus not the superficial judgments of men. God alone is able to truly assess the worthiness of mens' hearts and to know who will accept his grace, to whom to grant salvation (that is, who will be able to receive it), and all of this before they are even born. Thus, the objection Paul addresses in vv. 18-20 is not a challenge to divine voluntarism, but an attempt to set oneself up as the judge of a higher court than God's. The objection is inadequate not because we have no idea of what goodness or justice really are in God's secret counsel, but because we are not omniscient or all-wise as he is; we do not know who is worthy or who is faithful as he does, and so we have no right to gainsay him. Paul does not attempt to elevate God's counsels above any moral standard of righteousness that we can know, but rather defends his righteousness as the Jews have most truly understood it (through the patriarchs and prophets), even if his electing actions don't appear (to our limited judgment) to line up with it. This discrepancy, he argues, is a reflection of our finitude and ignorance rather than any real unrighteousness in God, and it is foolish and disobedient to seek to hold God to account for it.

I grant that a Calvinist reading of Romans 9 does more closely follow with a face-value reading of the chapter—but the strength of Chrysostom's hermeneutic is that because of his strong awareness of the theological and scriptural context, he knows what to take at face value and what to qualify, and how. He has a theological balance, a "big picture" awareness that allows him to interpret Paul here without losing sight of numerous other truths of importance, even if Paul's phrasing appears to at times. He reads Scripture in concert with the "mind of the Church", fitting it in with what has been believed "always, everywhere, by all". This is reflective of the Church's view of Scripture as existing within Holy Tradition, not apart from it. I do not see a Calvinist reading as doing this; instead, it makes this passage and a select other few like it (though more ambiguous) determinative of a drastically different reading of Scripture, one that renders God's goodness and transcendence confusing and opaque and leads to readings of other texts (e.g. Psa 5:4, Eze 18:32, 33:11, Mat 23:37, 1 Tim 2:4) that are at least as strained as Chrysostom's reading of this one and decidedly contrary to the rule of faith handed down in the Church. In my opinion, it leads to imbalance even in Romans 9 itself—what are we to do with verse 32? Why does Paul lament the estrangement of his Jewish brethren in the first five verses, even expressing willingness to be accursed for their salvation, then go on to explain that it is because of God's sovereign, unquestionable "purpose according to election"? Such a reading hews closely to the letter of the Scriptures while denying their Spirit, much as the Pharisees did with the Old Testament.

The rest of this post will be a collection of other patristic quotes demonstrating Chrysostom's view of human freedom to be the consensual one in the early church. (Excepting Augustine—it is ironic that the area in which Reformed Christians draw the most heavily on the great western father is the one in which he is the least orthodox)

John of Damascus

First, St. John of Damascus discourses extensively on free will and divine providence in his catechism. He again raises the point that the freedom of human agency is necessary to avoid making God (or necessity, or fate, or nature, or chance, or accident) the author of human evil (emphasis added):
Of all the things that happen, the cause is said to be either God, or necessity, or fate, or nature, or chance, or accident. But God’s function has to do with essence and providence: necessity deals with the movement of things that ever keep to the same course: fate with the necessary accomplishment of the things it brings to pass (for fate itself implies necessity): nature with birth, growth, destruction, plants and animals; chance with what is rare and unexpected. For chance is defined as the meeting and concurrence of two causes, originating in choice but bringing to pass something other than what is natural: for example, if a man finds a treasure while digging a ditch: for the man who hid the treasure did not do so that the other might find it, nor did the finder dig with the purpose of finding the treasure: but the former hid it that he might take it away when he wished, and the other’s aim was to dig the ditch: whereas something happened quite different from what both had in view. Accident again deals with casual occurrences that take place among lifeless or irrational things, apart from nature and art. This then is their doctrine. Under which, then, of these categories are we to bring what happens through the agency of man, if indeed man is not the cause and beginning of action? for it would not be right to ascribe to God actions that are sometimes base and unjust: nor may we ascribe these to necessity, for they are not such as ever continue the same: nor to fate, for fate implies not possibility only but necessity: nor to nature, for nature’s province is animals and plants: nor to chance, for the actions of men are not rare and unexpected: nor to accident, for that is used in reference to the casual occurrences that take place in the world of lifeless and irrational things. We are left then with this fact, that the man who acts and makes is himself the author of his own works, and is a creature endowed with free-will. (John of Damascus, An Exact Exposition of the Orthodox Faith 2.25)
In Orthodox synergism, this is balanced by the leading or enabling of divine grace.
Note, however, that while the choice of what is to be done is ever in our power, the action itself often is prevented [i.e. anticipated, preceded] by some dispensation of the divine Providence. (John of Damascus, An Exact Exposition of the Orthodox Faith  2.26)
Free will is closely linked to rationality, and moral responsibility depends on it:
We hold, therefore, that free-will comes on the scene at the same moment as reason, and that change and alteration are congenital to all that is produced. ... For reason consists of a speculative and a practical part. The speculative part is the contemplation of the nature of things, and the practical consists in deliberation and defines the true reason for what is to be done. The speculative side is called mind or wisdom, and the practical side is called reason or prudence. Every one, then, who deliberates does so in the belief that the choice of what is to be done lies in his hands, that he may choose what seems best as the result of his deliberation, and having chosen may act upon it. And if this is so, free-will must necessarily be very closely related to reason. For either man is an irrational being, or, if he is rational, he is master of his acts and endowed with free-will. Hence also creatures without reason do not enjoy free-will: for nature leads them rather than they nature, and so they do not oppose the natural appetite, but as soon as their appetite longs after anything they rush headlong after it. But man, being rational, leads nature rather than nature him, and so when he desires aught he has the power to curb his appetite or to indulge it as he pleases. Hence also creatures devoid of reason are the subjects neither of praise nor blame, while man is the subject of both praise and blame. (John of Damascus, An Exact Exposition of the Orthodox Faith 2.27)
John is very clear that death, sin, and damnation are not the work of God, but of sinful man. God only creates and renews; man destroys.
Of things that are not in our hands some have their beginning or cause in those that are in our power, that is to say, the recompenses of our actions both in the present and in the age to come, but all the rest are dependent on the divine will. For the origin of all things is from God, but their destruction has been introduced by our wickedness for our punishment or benefit. For God did not create death, neither does He take delight in the destruction of living things. But death is the work rather of man, that is, its origin is in Adam’s transgression, in like manner as all other punishments. But all other things must be referred to God. (John of Damascus, An Exact Exposition of the Orthodox Faith 2.28)
What, then, is God's providence? God's caring provision and oversight of the created order.
Providence, then, is the care that God takes over existing things. And again: Providence is the will of God through which all existing things receive their fitting issue.
God therefore is both Creator and Provider, and His creative and preserving and providing power is simply His good-will. For whatsoever the Lord pleased that did He in heaven and in earth, and no one resisted His will. He willed that all things should be and they were. He wills the universe to be framed and it is framed, and all that He wills comes to pass.
That He provides, and that He provides excellently, one can most readily perceive thus. God alone is good and wise by nature. Since then He is good, He provides: for he who does not provide is not good. For even men and creatures without reason provide for their own offspring according to their nature, and he who does not provide is blamed. Again, since He is wise, He takes the best care over what exists. (John of Damascus, An Exact Exposition of the Orthodox Faith 2.29)
John rather strikingly says that exertions of free will are "outside the sphere of Providence"; obviously this doesn't mean that we can catch God unawares or thwart his providence, only that we are not controlled by it.
When, therefore, we give heed to these things we ought to be filled with wonder at all the works of Providence, and praise them all, and accept them all without enquiry, even though they are in the eyes of many unjust, because the Providence of God is beyond our ken and comprehension, while our reasonings and actions and the future are revealed to His eyes alone. And by “all” I mean those that are not in our hands: for those that are in our power are outside the sphere of Providence and within that of our Free-will. (John of Damascus, An Exact Exposition of the Orthodox Faith 2.29)
John also draws the familiar orthodox distinction between divine action (or cooperation, in the case of virtuous deeds on our part) and permission (or desertion), making clear that the final outcome is in God's hands.
Moreover, it is to be observed that the choice of what is to be done is in our own hands: but the final issue depends, in the one case when our actions are good, on the cooperation of God, Who in His justice brings help according to His foreknowledge to such as choose the good with a right conscience, and, in the other case when our actions are to evil, on the desertion by God, Who again in His justice stands aloof in accordance with His foreknowledge.
Now there are two forms of desertion: for there is desertion in the matters of guidance and training, and there is complete and hopeless desertion. The former has in view the restoration and safety and glory of the sufferer, or the rousing of feelings of emulation and imitation in others, or the glory of God: but the latter is when man, after God has done all that was possible to save him, remains of his own set purpose blind and uncured, or rather incurable, and then he is handed over to utter destruction, as was Judas. May God be gracious to us, and deliver us from such desertion.
Observe further that the ways of God’s providence are many, and they cannot be explained in words nor conceived by the mind.
And remember that all the assaults of dark and evil fortune contribute to the salvation of those who receive them with thankfulness, and are assuredly ambassadors of help. (John of Damascus, An Exact Exposition of the Orthodox Faith 2.29)
He clearly states that God desires the salvation or all and has no a priori need to manifest his wrath or "justice" on anyone.
Also one must bear in mind that God’s original wish was that all should be saved and come to His Kingdom. For it was not for punishment that He formed us but to share in His goodness, inasmuch as He is a good God. But inasmuch as He is a just God, His will is that sinners should suffer punishment.
The first then is called God’s antecedent will and pleasure, and springs from Himself, while the second is called God’s consequent will and permission, and has its origin in us. And the latter is two-fold; one part dealing with matters of guidance and training, and having in view our salvation, and the other being hopeless and leading to our utter punishment, as we said above. And this is the case with actions that are not left in our hands. (John of Damascus, An Exact Exposition of the Orthodox Faith 2.29)
John cautions that Scripture often speaks of God's permission as actively willing something (this applies to the preceding passage about punishment). He appears to agree wholly with Chrysostom's interpretation of Romans 9:21.
It is to be observed that it is the custom in the Holy Scripture to speak of God’s permission as His energy, as when the apostle says in the Epistle to the Romans, Hath not the potter power over the clay, of the same lump to make one vessel unto honour and another unto dishonour? And for this reason, that He Himself makes this or that. For He is Himself alone the Maker of all things; yet it is not He Himself that fashions noble or ignoble things, but the personal choice of each one.
Wherefore this passage that we have quoted and this, God hath concluded them all in unbelief, and this, God hath given them the spirit of slumber, eyes that they should not see, and ears that they should not hear, all these must be understood not as though God Himself were energising, but as though God were permitting, both because of free-will and because goodness knows no compulsion. His permission, therefore, is usually spoken of in the Holy Scripture as His energy and work.
This also should be recognised, that it is usual in the Scriptures for some things that ought to be considered as effects to be stated in a causal sense, as, Against Thee, Thee only, have I sinned and done this evil in Thy sight, that Thou mightest be justified when Thou speakest, and prevail when Thou judgest. (John of Damascus, An Exact Exposition of the Orthodox Faith 4.19)
Those actions of our that are good God cooperates with and enables; those that are wicked he simply resigns us to, as "a concession to free-will."
But of actions that are in our hands the good ones depend on His antecedent goodwill and pleasure, while the wicked ones depend neither on His antecedent nor on His consequent will, but are a concession to free-will. For that which is the result of compulsion has neither reason nor virtue in it. God makes provision for all creation and makes all creation the instrument of His help and training, yea often even the demons themselves, as for example in the cases of Job and the swine. (John of Damascus, An Exact Exposition of the Orthodox Faith 2.29)
Another clear denial that God predetermines acts of evil:
We ought to understand that while God knows all things beforehand, yet He does not predetermine all things. For He knows beforehand those things that are in our power, but He does not predetermine them. For it is not His will that there should be wickedness nor does He choose to compel virtue. (John of Damascus, An Exact Exposition of the Orthodox Faith 2.30)
We can do no good on our own, yet we must consciously abide in God and not stray from the way of holiness he has marked for us.
Bear in mind, too, that virtue is a gift from God implanted in our nature, and that He Himself is the source and cause of all good, and without His co-operation and help we cannot will or do any good thing. But we have it in our power either to abide in virtue and follow God, Who calls us into ways of virtue, or to stray from paths of virtue, which is to dwell in wickedness, and to follow the devil who summons but cannot compel us. For wickedness is nothing else than the withdrawal of goodness, just as darkness is nothing else than the withdrawal of light. While then we abide in the natural state we abide in virtue, but when we deviate from the natural state, that is from virtue, we come into an unnatural state and dwell in wickedness. (John of Damascus, An Exact Exposition of the Orthodox Faith 2.30)
Finally, concerning the creation of those who God in his foreknowledge knew would not repent, John sharply distinguishes between the intrinsic goodness of God's creation and its subsequent choices of good and evil; God intends nothing but good for all his works.
But if the very existence of those, who through the goodness of God are in the future to exist, were to be prevented by the fact that they were to become evil of their own choice, evil would have prevailed over the goodness of God. Wherefore God makes all His works good, but each becomes of its own choice good or evil. Although, then, the Lord said, Good were it for that man that he had never been born, He said it in condemnation not of His own creation but of the evil which His own creation had acquired by his own choice and through his own heedlessness. For the heedlessness that marks man’s judgment made His Creator’s beneficence of no profit to him. (John of Damascus, An Exact Exposition of the Orthodox Faith 4.21)

Other Fathers

Origen similarly reflects on the double-sided potential of freedom, and rebukes those who refuse to actively pursue salvation because of a limited view of freedom.
God did not create death; he did not create evil; but he left to human beings, as to angels, freedom in everything. Thus through their freedom some rise to the highest good, others rush headlong into the depths of evil. But you, man, why do you reject your freedom? Why this reluctance to have to make an effort, to toil, to fight, to become the artificer of your own salvation? 'My father is working still,' it is written, 'and I am working.' (Jhn 5:17) Are you then reluctant to work, you who were created in order to create positively? (Origen, First Homily on Ezekiel 3)
And again:
This also is clearly defined in the teaching of the Church, that every rational soul is possessed of free-will and volition; that it has a struggle to maintain with the devil and his angels, and opposing influences, because they strive to burden it with sins; but if we live rightly and wisely, we should endeavour to shake ourselves free of a burden of that kind.  From which it follows, also, that we understand ourselves not to be subject to necessity, so as to be compelled by all means, even against our will, to do either good or evil.  For if we are our own masters, some influences perhaps may impel us to sin, and others help us to salvation; we are not forced, however, by any necessity either to act rightly or wrongly, which those persons think is the case who say that the courses and movements of the stars are the cause of human actions, not only of those which take place beyond the influence of the freedom of the will, but also of those which are placed within our own power. (Origen, On First Principles, preface V)
In the second century, Justin Martyr expresses the same faith:
For God, wishing both angels and men, who were endowed with free-will, and at their own disposal, to do whatever He had strengthened each to do, made them so, that if they chose the things acceptable to Himself, He would keep them free from death and from punishment; but that if they did evil, He would punish each as He sees fit. (Justin Martyr, Dialogue with Trypho 88)
Near the end of his Dialogue, Justin explains more of the reason for free will and denies God's role in the wickedness of any of his creatures:
But that you may not have a pretext for saying that Christ must have been crucified, and that those who transgressed must have been among your nation, and that the matter could not have been otherwise, I said briefly by anticipation, that God, wishing men and angels to follow His will, resolved to create them free to do righteousness; possessing reason, that they may know by whom they are created, and through whom they, not existing formerly, do now exist; and with a law that they should be judged by Him, if they do anything contrary to right reason: and of ourselves we, men and angels, shall be convicted of having acted sinfully, unless we repent beforehand. But if the word of God foretells that some angels and men shall be certainly punished, it did so because it foreknew that they would be unchangeably [wicked], but not because God had created them so. So that if they repent, all who wish for it can obtain mercy from God: and the Scripture foretells that they shall be blessed, saying, ‘Blessed is the man to whom the Lord imputeth not sin;’ that is, having repented of his sins, that he may receive remission of them from God; and not as you deceive yourselves, and some others who resemble you in this, who say, that even though they be sinners, but know God, the Lord will not impute sin to them. (Justin Martyr, Dialogue with Trypho 141)
Irenaeus is of the same mind, affirming the God-created freedom of man and the unqualified good will of God towards his creation.
This expression [of our Lord], How often would I have gathered your children together, and you would not [Mat 23:37], set forth the ancient law of human liberty, because God made man a free [agent] from the beginning, possessing his own power, even as he does his own soul, to obey the behests of God voluntarily, and not by compulsion of God. For there is no coercion with God, but a good will [towards us] is present with Him continually. And therefore does He give good counsel to all. And in man, as well as in angels, He has placed the power of choice (for angels are rational beings), so that those who had yielded obedience might justly possess what is good, given indeed by God, but preserved by themselves. (Irenaeus, Against Heresies IV.37.1)
Free will is necessary for God's judgment to be just:
But if some had been made by nature bad, and others good, these latter would not be deserving of praise for being good, for such were they created; nor would the former be reprehensible, for thus they were made [originally]. (Irenaeus, Against Heresies IV.37.2)
It is also assumed in the commands of the Lord in the gospels; if God determined the will of man, why would he give men commands that he had predestined them to disobey?
All such passages demonstrate the independent will of man, and at the same time the counsel which God conveys to him, by which He exhorts us to submit ourselves to Him, and seeks to turn us away from [the sin of] unbelief against Him, without, however, in any way coercing us. (Irenaeus, Against Heresies IV.37.3)
I could go on quoting from Irenaeus, especially chapters IV.37-IV.39, but since this post is already enormous I will close by repeating myself from my paper on the problem of evil; Irenaeus considers our freedom to be a reflection of the freedom of God, in whose image we are made.
No doubt, if any one is unwilling to follow the Gospel itself, it is in his power [to reject it], but it is not expedient. For it is in man's power to disobey God, and to forfeit what is good; but [such conduct] brings no small amount of injury and mischief. ... If then it were not in our power to do or not to do these things, what reason had the apostle, and much more the Lord Himself, to give us counsel to do some things, and to abstain from others? But because man is possessed of free will from the beginning, and God is possessed of free will, in whose likeness man was created, advice is always given to him to keep fast the good, which thing is done by means of obedience to God. (Irenaeus, Against Heresies IV.37.4)
Gregory of Nyssa says the same:
He who created human beings in order to make them share in his own fullness so disposed their nature that it contains the principle of all that is good, and each of these dispositions draws them to desire the corresponding divine attribute. So God could not have deprived them of the best and most precious of his attributes, his freedom. (Gregory of Nyssa, Catechetical Oration 5)
The fact of being created in the image of God means that humanity right from the moment of creation was endowed with a royal character ... The godhead is wisdom and logos [reason, meaning]; in yourself too you see intelligence and thought, images of the original intelligent and thought ... God is love and the source of love; the divine Creator has drawn this feature on our faces too. (Gregory of Nyssa, On the Creation of Man)
Expanding on this, Diadochus relates the distinction between the image and likeness of God to freedom.
All of us who are human beings are in the image of God. But to be in his likeness belongs only to those who by great love have attached their freedom to God. (Diadochus of Photike, Gnostic Chapters 4) 
Like John of Damascus, Gregory also states that free will is what absolves God of responsibility for the evil committed by his creatures.
Thus God cannot be held responsible for evil, for he is the author of what is, and not what is not. It is he who made sight, not blindness ... And that without subjecting us to his good pleasure by any violent constraint. He did not draw us toward what is good against our will, as if we were an inanimate object. If when the light shines very brightly ... someone chooses to hide his eyes by lowering his eyelids, the sun is not responsible for the fact that he cannot see it. (Gregory of Nyssa, Catechetical Oration 7)
Symeon the New Theologian denies the Calvinist teaching that God's foreknowing something is equivalent to his actively doing it. (The context is the Christian's victory over or defeat by sin and death)
It is not God's foreknowledge of those who, by their free choice and zeal, will prevail which is the cause of their victory, just as, again, it is not His knowing beforehand who will fall and be vanquished which is the cause of their defeat. Instead, it is the zeal, deliberate choice, and courage of each of us which effects the victory. Our faithlessness and sloth, our irresolution and indolence, on the other hand, comprise our defeat and perdition. (Symeon the New Theologian, Ethical Discourses 2.I.3)
Maximus the Confessor relates Christ's being the one who stands at the door of our hearts, waiting for each to respond to him (Rev 3:20) with his kenotic, substitutionary suffering:
God has made himself a beggar by reason of his concern for us ... suffering mystically through his tenderness to the end of time according to the measure of each one's suffering. (Maximus the Confessor, Mystagogia 24)
And finally, Isaac of Nineveh states the necessity of the use of our freedom in coming to God in terms that almost sound Pelagian (the "alone" must be taken to mean without compulsion or restriction of freedom, not a denial of a prior divine invitation).
In his great love God was unwilling to restrict our freedom, even though he had the power to do so. He has left us to come to him by the love of our heart alone. (Isaac of Nineveh, Ascetic Treatises 81)
This weight of evidence should be sufficient to demonstrate that the Orthodox Church has affirmed the free will and moral responsibility of humans, and the universal benevolence of God that wills it, since at least the second century, and has consistently done so ever since. I believe that its witness is true, and so I approach Scripture with the mind of the Church on this topic, glad to be free of the endless intramural debates over it within Protestantism. 

Thursday, March 12, 2015

My Journey, Part 13.3: Faith Alone?

This is part 13.3 of my rebooted series on my journey from Evangelicalism to Eastern Orthodoxy. The full series can be found here:

1Back to the beginning
2Cracks appear
3Questions multiply
4Questioning the "gospel"
5The big question
6A better hermeneutic
7Explorations in epistemology
7.5Excursus on oversystematization
8Back to the gospel
9The new direction
10Ecclesiological foundations
11.1Sola scriptura
11.2The insufficiency of Scripture
11.25Addenda on sola scriptura
11.3Holy Tradition
12Bridging the cracks
13.1Orthodoxy and Genesis 1–3
13.2A Better Atonement (Against Penal Substitution)
13.3Faith Alone?
13.4The Colour and the Shape of the Gospel
14Worshipping with the Church
15Mary, Saints, Baptism, and Other Odds/Ends
16Looking Back, Coming Home

The next contrast I would like to draw between evangelical and Orthodox visions of the gospel concerns the doctrine of justification by faith alone and the application of salvation to human beings. The theology, that is, exemplified in statements like these from the Westminster Confession:
Those whom God effectually calleth, he also freely justifieth: not by infusing righteousness into them, but by pardoning their sins, and by accounting and accepting their persons as righteous; not for anything wrought in them, or done by them, but for Christ's sake alone; not by imputing faith itself, the act of believing, or any other evangelical obedience to them, as their righteousness; but by imputing the obedience and satisfaction of Christ unto them, they receiving and resting on him and his righteousness by faith; which faith they have not of themselves, it is the gift of God. Faith, thus receiving and resting on Christ and his righteousness, is the alone instrument of justification; yet is it not alone in the person justified, but is ever accompanied with all other saving graces, and is no dead faith, but worketh by love. (XIII.1,2)
Good works are only such as God hath commanded in his holy Word, and not such as, without the warrant thereof, are devised by men out of blind zeal, or upon any pretense of good intention. These good works, done in obedience to God's commandments, are the fruits and evidences of a true and lively faith: and by them believers manifest their thankfulness, strengthen their assurance, edify their brethren, adorn the profession of the gospel, stop the mouths of the adversaries, and glorify God, whose workmanship they are, created in Christ Jesus thereunto, that, having their fruit unto holiness, they may have the end, eternal life. Their ability to do good works is not at all of themselves, but wholly from the Spirit of Christ. And that they may be enabled thereunto, besides the graces they have already received, there is required an actual influence of the same Holy Spirit to work in them to will and to do of his good pleasure; yet are they not hereupon to grow negligent, as if they were not bound to perform any duty unless upon a special motion of the Spirit; but they ought to be diligent in stirring up the grace of God that is in them. (XVIII.1-3)
I feel fairly justified (no pun intended) in asserting that while penal substitutionary atonement is considered the default behind-the-scenes theology of how the gospel basically works, justification by faith alone is virtually considered to be what the gospel really, basically is, particularly in its more classical formulations. It was the key revelation of Luther's "evangelical experience" that touched off the Reformation. It is enshrined in one of the five solae of Protestant theology. It is the sine qua non of the "raw gospel", the article by which the church stands or falls, the last thing you can take out before you stop having a condensed statement of the gospel and start having no gospel at all.

During my journey into doubt about this gospel, I began questioning four dichotomies I saw in the gospel of justification by faith alone—overly stark distinctions made, things separated that I felt belonged together, concepts set in tension that I saw as complementary. These problems were most identifiable with Martin Luther's theology, but I saw echoes of them throughout much of Protestantism, not least in the Reformed theology with which I am more familiar. I will refer to them by the following pairings: Law/Gospel, Nature/Grace, Faith/Works, and Justification/Sanctification. I have already written of the tendency of distinctions like these to foster negative definitions of the "gospel". When I began to explore Orthodox theology, it confirmed these suspicions. Given that a good deal of my problems with living the "Christian life" within evangelicalism arose from these questions, this was a powerful witness to me for the Orthodox faith.

Aside: you may have been noticing in this and the last few posts that, except for the Old Testament sacrificial system and a few aspects of the Atonement, I haven't been making much of a positive biblical case for my points. This is partially a methodological change due to my shift from relying on the Bible alone as the final authority for matters of faith and practice to viewing it as existing within Holy Tradition.  But more precisely, it is because of my realization that the Bible is not self-interpreting (hence the need for tradition), and that many disagreements among Christians over what Scripture "says" are actually disagreements on the best way to interpret it. Much like conversations of apologetics between theists and skeptics, citing Scripture as evidence in these discussions may not be helpful since people holding different positions simply interpret it in different ways so as to agree with their convictions. Hence my greater reliance on theological, philosophical, and historical arguments for the following points, with Scripture (interpreted according to Orthodox tradition, and hence in a way that Reformed evangelicals may disagree with) in more of a supporting role.

Speaking of historical arguments, Jaroslav Pelikan mentions in his history of Christian doctrine the difficulty the Reformers had finding patristic evidence for justification by faith alone (though they believed it was implicit from Augustinian anthropology and orthodox Trinitarian theology):
[Luther and Melanchthon's] distinctive account of the means of appropriating redemption, the doctrine of justification by faith, was, at least in the form it took in the theology of the Reformers, a doctrine for which it proved to be extremely difficult to document a continuous history in the ancient church, despite the claim that there was proof for it not only in the Scriptures but also in the church fathers, or, at any rate, that there were 'traces [vestigia]' of it. Not only this particular answer to the question of justification, but even the very question of justification itself, was anything but a commonplace in patristic thought, Eastern or Western. (4.157)
Without further ado, on to the Law/Gospel tension.

Law/Gospel

How can we see the bad news of the gospel as clearly and "bad-ly" as possible so the good news seems all the better to us?
How does the revelation of Jesus Christ transform the whole of reality for us, 
including the Old Testament?

In classical Protestant theology, the "law" (in the broader, more ambiguous sense I pointed out last time) is considered to have three uses: to partially restrain sin and maintain some kind of civic order; to condemn sin, show us our guilt, and drive us to seek grace through Christ; and as a guide by which Christians may righteously live out their life of repentance. Lutheran theology tends to place the most weight on the second use, while Reformed theology pays more attention to the third as well. It is the second use, and by extension the more Lutheran flavor of evangelicalism, that I will be specifically critiquing here, though the same kind of teaching tends to appear in Reformed evangelicalism in attenuated form. It is the tendency to make the law the "bad news" which is contrasted with and answered by the "good news" of the gospel. Pelikan writes extensively about Luther's theology in this regard. First, to remove any doubt that Luther was exemplary of the distorted view of God's justice I described last time (emphasis added):
In the language of the Bible, God's justice against sin was called 'the wrath of God,' or as Luther called it, 'the wrath of his severity.' The wrath of God was an even graver consequence of sin than was the corruption of sin itself, bringing with it as it did the curse of God and the punishment of death. Nowhere in the Bible did Luther find the doctrine of the wrath of God more profoundly stated than in Psalm 90, traditionally ascribed to Moses, who was here 'Moses at his most Mosaic, that is, a stern minister of death, God's wrath, and sin,' and who in this psalm expressed 'all that can possibly be said about man's tragic condition.' Since God was eternal and omnipotent, his fury or wrath toward self-satisfied sinners is also immeasurable and infinite.' (4.132)
To Luther, the law was the proclamation of this justice/wrath, meant to accuse and terrify the conscience by revealing sin and the awful wrath of God in order to drive the sinner toward repentance (in other words, to allow them to have their own "evangelical experience" as Luther did).
it was the function of divine law to declare what was right in the sight of God and thus to reveal the wrath of God against sin. Far from bringing confidence and assurance, the law brought only accusation and terror to the conscience, 'the terrible and indescribable wrath of God,' for the law was 'the word that denounces sin.' The law was indeed an illumination, but 'a light that illumines and shows, not the grace of God, or righteousness and life, but the wrath of God, sin, death, our damnation in the sight of God, and hell.' (4.133-134)
The law of God, which was one of the 'enemies' over whom Christ the victor prevailed, was as well a divine demand that man had the obligation to fulfill but could not obey. (4.163)
Luther's strong emphasis on the second use of the law is evident, as is his relative demotion of the third use:
Luther could go so far as to declare that 'the law was not put in our hands for us to fulfill it, but was put in the hands of Christ, who was to come, for him to fulfill it.' (4.163)
As is well-known, in his hermeneutic approach Luther saw Scripture in terms of a sharp distinction between law and gospel (which was not exactly the same as Marcion's division between the testaments, since elements of both law and gospel could be found in each testament):
In its strict sense as the good news of salvation through the victory of Christ, the gospel stood in the sharpest possible contrast to the law. Out of that contrast Luther shaped one of the most pervasive themes of his theology of the cross. 'The truth of the gospel is this,' he said, 'that our righteousness comes by faith alone, without the works of the law,' and therefore the only 'real theologian' was one 'who knows well how to distinguish the gospel from the law.' 'The knowledge of this topic, the distinction between the law and the gospel,' he went on, 'is necessary to the highest degree, for it contains a summary of all Christian doctrine.' Everyone was to learn to make this distinction 'not only in words, but in feeling and in experience.' (4.168)
Moses and Christ thus served as contrasting figures representing these two divine dispensations:
The use of Moses and Christ to represent the law and the gospel had a precedent in the New Testament itself, where 'grace and truth' were the line of demarcation between what had come through Moses and what had come through Christ. (Jhn 1:17) The law, as the word of Moses directed to the outer life of men, was able to instruct and sanctify only the flesh, whereas the gospel, as the word of Christ directed to the inner life of men, was able to instruct and sanctify the spirit. It was the special ministry of Moses to proclaim the wrath of God in the law, and the death that was the consequence of man's disobedience. Thus Luther portrayed Christ as speaking to Moses: 'I will not preach as you, Moses, are obliged to preach. For you must proclaim the law. ... Therefore your preaching produces only wretched people; it shows them their sins, on account of which they cannot keep the law.' (4.168)
For, as Melanchthon's Apology of the Augsburg Confession summarized the Lutheran distinction, 'all Scripture should be divided into these two chief doctrines, the law and the promises.' It was the intention and function of the law, the Apology went on to declare, to be 'the word that convicts of sin. For the law works wrath, it only accuses, it only terrifies consciences.' This it did because no one could live up to its demands: not only a completely upright and moral life, but an upright heart, a motivation for life that loved God above all things and loved the neighbor perfectly. Hence it was in a tone of irony that both the Old and the New Testament said of the works of the law that 'he who does them shall live by them,' since no one could. To the argument of Erasmus that the presence of so many commands in both the Old and the New Testament implied an ability to obey them, Luther retorted: 'Reason thinks that man is mocked by an impossible commandment, whereas I maintain that by this means man is admonished and awakened to see his own impotence.' Once the penitent sinner had been awakened this way by the proclamation of the law to recognize his true condition before God, the law had performed its task and must yield to the promise of the gospel, which the sinner accepted by faith alone, without any merit or reliance on the works of the law. The forgiven sinner 'died to the law,' was no longer bound by it, no longer owed it obedience, and did not even know it any longer. To be justified by faith alone meant to live by the gospel alone. (4.170-171)
These quotes should be sufficient to illustrate the law/gospel dichotomy I'm referring to. I've already explained my difficulties with this take on the law in post 5. First, I wondered why we don't let the "law" (whose primary job, according to Luther, is to show us our sin, full us with guilt and terror and the wrath of God, and drive us to repentance) convict us of breaking the Sabbath, or eating pork. They're in there, after all! (Exo 20:8-11, Lev 11:7) This is indicative of the fact that the "law", in Lutheran theology, is not, in fact, exactly coextensive with the Mosaic law; in terms of its actual demands, it seems more like the natural law or law of conscience (see Rom 2:14-15), though it is still spoken of as being given by Moses. The distinctive Jewishness of the Mosaic law is largely ignored, and it is instead thought of as a demand on all mankind that brings a curse (ultimately, death) onto the whole human race. So Pelikan:
Although both the law and the gospel had come by the revelation of God, there was this difference between them: the gospel could be known only through such revelation, while the law of Moses was, at least in principle, coextensive with the law of nature and was valid only insofar as it was the same as the law of nature. (4.170)
Second, as I realized years ago, the Lutheran understanding of the law only works on an individual level; when applied historically, it leads to absurdity. In the quotes above Luther calls the law as bringing "only accusation and terror to the conscience," as "one of the 'enemies' over whom Christ the victor prevailed," a foil for the good news of the gospel, able to sanctify only the exterior (and by implication, inevitably producing Pharisees, Luk 11:39), a "stern [ministry] of death, God's wrath, and sin", whose promises of life through obedience were given only in irony because they were impossible. And then God leaves his "chosen" people with it as the foundation for their civil and religious life for thousands of years and calls it a gift! Hence my struggle with seeing the law (which, I cannot remind you enough, was supposedly given by God as a good thing) either as the problem from which the gospel saves us, or a deliberately ineffective solution to it. Luther's view of the law reduces the historical narrative of the gospel (as opposed to the personal narrative of individual salvation) to a farce.

But especially (again as I described in post 5), I struggled with doubts arising from the seeming incompatibility between Paul and the Old Testament, between commands to seek righteousness from obeying the law (Lev 18:5, Deu 6:25), assurances that it is possible (Deu 30:11-14), and Paul's writing that it was impossible and not even intended all along. As I journaled:
Why does God seem to command people to seek life through [the law] if it was never intended? ... God never wanted Pharisees—He never intended for anyone to actually try to be justified by obeying the law. So how do you explain His commanding them to obey it all so they would live? I picture Him saying it with a wink—'By the way, this is all impossible, but just play along.' If God never intended anyone to be saved by the law, why was He so emphatic about obeying it so you might live? Lev 18:5, Deu 6:25... And this after the establishment in Abraham of justification by faith—what were they supposed to think? 'Wait, so if we disobey the law, does that nullify our righteousness by faith?' (2012-12-13) 
It almost seems like God did expect the Israelites to be justified by law. Was the whole system of law a big joke, delivered with a wink, with Christ the punchline that God expected the Israelites to 'get'? 'You will be declared righteous by obeying the whole law (only you can't, this way doesn't work, you just have to believe like Abraham)' (2013-1-12)
(From the 4.170-171 quote above, it seems that Luther's answer would be an unhesitant "Yes")
If God never intended for people to seek salvation through the law, why did He tell them to and say they could do it? [Deu 30:11-14] If Abraham had already established the precedent of salvation by faith, why was the law then given at all? (2013-1-20)
Now I see more clearly that was was really incompatible was not Paul and the law, but the Lutheran readings of Paul and the law which viewed the law as an (impossible) way to "earn" righteousness and salvation before God, as more of an enemy of man than a gift, and the gospel as freedom from the law's condemnation. Again, in the Reformed tradition with which I am more familiar, this is not the whole picture of the law, but it is definitely part of it. And I no longer believe it should be.

The contrasting Orthodox teaching on law and gospel may be a little underwhelming, because Orthodoxy makes much less of a big deal of it than Protestantism does, dependent as it is on Luther's theology. Much of the difference is a result of the eastern view of God's justice, as I explained last time. Apart from the Anselmian understanding of God's justice as the need to avenge his honor or punish sin, the law no longer looks like an enemy we are saved from; it certainly does still reveal sin and our inability to live up to it righteously, but its function is not so one-dimensionally negative, simply to terrify and condemn. Much like God's justice (which is of course closely associated with it), the law has a positive role to play in salvation (restraining sin, helping Israel to enjoy God's grace, making known his will and promises) as well as a negative one. And even in its negative usage, because Orthodoxy sees death as a consequence of sin rather than a penalty, it is easy to see that the law is not the real problem, but rather only points it out. As Fr. Stephen Freeman often says, we do not have a "legal problem" with sin; the problem of sin is not that it brings us under legal guilt or condemnation according to the law, but that it separates us from the Author of life and being, causing us to die. The law points out the problem; it does not create it.

Also and significantly, Orthodox theology distinguishes between the different kinds of "law" in Paul's theology. My study Bible lists at least six in Romans alone: the Mosaic law (2:12-14), natural law (2:14-15), the "laws" (or principles) or works and faith (3:27), the law of sin (Rom 7:25, 8:2), and the law of the Spirit. (8:2) This means that the Mosaic law with its "curse" (Gal 3:10) is distinguishable from natural law (which is what is incumbent on all mankind); thus the idea of death as the "curse" of the law from which Christ saves us is undone, and sin is seen not to be equivalent to Pelagianism or being "of works of the law". (The New Perspective on Paul, which I wrote about in post 8, reminds us that "works of the law" are not simply any moral effort, and is more inclined to view the Babylonian captivity and continued alienation of Israel from God and his promises as the "curse" of Gal 3:10,13) And by dissociating the Mosaic law from Paul's "law of works" or "law of sin and death", Luther's negative portrayal of the law is softened and balanced considerably. My study Bible summarizes on the Mosaic law:
The Law is good, but cannot be kept. It is revelation from God, but not an end in itself. The purpose of the Mosaic Law is (a) to reveal the difference between good and evil; (b) to make the world accountable to God (Rom 3:19); (c) to manifest sin (3:20); and (d) to be a schoolmaster to lead us to Christ (Gal 3:24). Though it is not opposed to the grace of God, the Law cannot save us or make us righteous.
So the law is by no means sufficient on its own to bring anyone to life, but this does not entail the Lutheran conclusion that it is bad and harmful, a "stern ministry of sin and death", or an enemy from which the gospel saves us. To impugn the law like this is to blaspheme against its giver.

Nature/Grace

How can we proclaim clearly and consistently that it is God, not man, who accomplishes the work of salvation?
What can we learn of our own union with God from the union of Christ's natures?

This teaching is at the root of the episode of doubt I had during Summer Project, as described in post #2. It is the tendency of expositions of the gospel according to evangelicalism to set our agency and God's agency, or human nature and divine grace, in opposition to each other, e.g. in the Westminster Confession's statement, "Their ability to do good works is not at all of themselves, but wholly from the Spirit of Christ." Examples of this kind of human agency-degrading rhetoric are incredibly common. The theological term for it is monergism, from the Greek meaning "one work" (namely, God's). This page lists numerous statements expressing monergistic theology, of which I will quote a few examples:
I say that man, before he is renewed into the new creation of the Spirit's kingdom, does and endeavours nothing to prepare himself for that new creation and kingdom, and when he is re-created has does and endeavors nothing towards his perseverance in that kingdom; but the Spirit alone works both blessings in us, regenerating us, and preserving us when regenerate, without ourselves... - Martin Luther
The first part of a good work is the will, the second is vigorous effort in the doing of it. God is the author of both. It is, therefore, robbery from God to arrogate anything to ourselves, either in the will or the act. - John Calvin
To say that we are able by our own efforts to think good thoughts or give God spiritual obedience before we are spiritually regenerate is to overthrow the gospel and the faith of the universal church in all ages. - John Owen
There is no true believing or trusting to the report of the gospel, but what is the effect of the working of a divine power on the soul for that end. - Thomas Boston
There can be but one will the master in our salvation, but that shall never be the will of man, but of God; therefore man must be saved by grace. - John Bunyan
What God requires of us he himself works in us, or it is not done. He that commands faith, holiness, and love, creates them by the power of his grace ... - Matthew Henry
Faith is a fruit of the Spirit, and not the cause of a spiritual experience. - Jonathan Edwards
It is not your hold of Christ that saves, but his hold of you! - C.H. Spurgeon
Faith, repentance, and holiness are no less the free gifts of God than eternal life. - Augustus Toplady
Sanctification is not a work of nature, but a work of grace. It is a transformation of character effected not by moral influences, but supernaturally by the Holy Spirit. - Charles Hodge
We can do nothing, it is all of God... If God had not quickened us we should still be dead. A dead man cannot give himself life. God quickened us, and because God has put new life into us we are alive in Christ Jesus, and in the realm of the Spirit. - D.M. Lloyd-Jones
Infants do not induce, or cooperate in, their own procreation and birth; no more can those who are 'dead in trespapasses and sins' prompt the quickening operation of God's Spirit within them. - J.I. Packer
Faith is the evidence of new birth, not the cause of it. - John Piper
Regeneration, however it is described, is a divine activity in us, in which we are not the actors but the recipients. - Sinclair Ferguson
God's grace in Christ is not merely necessary but is the sole efficient cause of salvation... We deny that salvation is in any sense a human work. Human methods, techniques or strategies by themselves cannot accomplish this transformation. Faith is not produced by our unregenerated human nature. - Cambridge Declaration
Hopefully this selection of quotes is sufficient to show you the basic pattern. As they indicate, monergism is applied with special force and focus to regeneration, the moment of salvation when God transforms the sinner's heart, creates faith and love for him where there was previously sin and unbelief, and is said to be "born again" in the John 3 sense. Of the evangelical tendency to focus on the "moment of salvation' I will say more next post. For now, the following quotes help tie monergistic teaching in with regeneration (meaning, literally, "new birth"): we are made anew and given faith entirely by the work of God operating through the Holy Spirit.
It is entirely the work of grace and a benefit conferred by it that our heart is changed from a stony one to one of flesh, that our will is made new, and that we, created anew in heart and mind, at length will what we ought to will. - John Calvin
Conversion is not a repairing of the old building, but it takes all down, and erects a new structure... The sincere Christian is quite a new fabric, from the foundation to the top-stone. He is a new man, a new creature; all things are become new. Conversion is a deep work, a heart work. It makes a new man in a new world. It extends to the whole man, to the mind, to the members, to the motions of the whole life. - Joseph Alleine
A man's conversion is nothing, his believing is nothing, his profession is nothing unless he is made to be a new creature in Christ Jesus... If our faith has not brought with it the Holy Spirit, if, indeed, it is not the fruit of the Spirit...then our faith is presumption, and our profession is a lie. - C.H. Spurgeon
More specifically, the thrust of monergism is not whether God's grace is necessary for regeneration, but whether it is sufficient for salvation; in other words, whether we cooperate with grace in some way while still relying on it, or whether God's grace is what saves us apart from any action, work, or response on our part. Our faith, in other words, is an effect, not a cause, of regeneration. This quote from Reformed apologist James White illustrates the point:
The [Roman Catholic] Council of Trent anathematizes anyone who says you can be saved without the grace of God. The Reformers, however, never claimed Rome believed you can be saved apart from grace. That wasn't the debate. The debate of the Reformation was never, ever about the necessity of grace, it was always about the sufficiency of grace. That remains the issue today in so many contexts.
But monergism is also applied to life after regeneration. Just as the Christian life starts entirely by grace, so it is said to continue entirely by grace. To be actively avoided is the arch-heresy of Pelagianism, or "works-righteousness", of substituting yourself for Jesus as your functional savior. It is the lie that our salvation, our relationship with God, is in any way dependent on us rather than on his grace, that after he has purchased our righteousness we still have to earn it with our own effort. As Paul asks the Galatians, "Having begun with the Spirit, are you now ending with the flesh?" (3:3) Keeping one's life centered on God and his all-sufficient grace is a constant struggle for the Christian.

Of the concept of a moral economy in which righteousness and salvation can be "purchased" and "earned" I have already said enough. Instead I would like to address monergism's distinction between nature and grace, or between human agency and divine agency, between what we do and what God does. I am no longer able to accept this dichotomy since I have found it to be impossible to live consistently, as I have described in posts #2 and 8. You simply can't step aside and let God's grace replace (or cause) your actions, your choices, your initiative. It doesn't consistently make sense to "let go and let God", as they say. You have to be doing something. "Actively" believing in God's grace and expecting him to do the rest without doing something yourself is no way to live the Christian life (at the same time, believing itself becomes a "work" that we are responsible for doing). How do you just "believe" or "trust" apart from concrete action, anyway? I expect many Reformed Christians would agree—so why do they continue to make statements of monergism that leave no real place for human agency?

I suspect the reason is that monergism conflates total dependence on God for the beginning and continuation of salvation with the irrelevance or uselessness of human agency. In other words, salvation is "all about" God and what he does/has done, rather than about what we do, and it necessarily involves despairing of your own efforts and "giving it up to God", letting him "take over" for us and do what we cannot do ourselves. According to monergism, if salvation depends entirely on God, it cannot therefore involve us except as passive recipients and objects of grace. In terms of the Nature/Grace duality, what we are unable to do by nature because our nature is sinful, God has done and does entirely by his grace.

I would disagree with this. I do not believe that if salvation depends on God's grace, it cannot also depend on our participation.  While there is abundant biblical support for saying that human cooperation/free will is not sufficient for anyone to be saved, saying that it is not necessary for salvation takes you into dangerous territory. Most basically, this is because the Nature/Grace dichotomy is simply bunk. As created beings, everything we are is of grace. There is no corner of our nature where God's grace is absent; speaking of our acting "on our own" in the way monergists do, as the opposite of stepping back and letting grace take over, simply doesn't make sense. We exist at all because of God's creative grace. We enjoy free will because of God's grace, because he created us in his image, as beings reflecting (imperfectly) his own total freedom. The exercise of our freedom is (or can be, at least), simultaneously, the working of God's grace in us (because he made us this way) and the willing and acting of a free, personal being other than God. (See Phil 2:12-13 for a clear description of this dynamic) His grace already, invisibly pervades our lives even if we don't know him. God made us to love and enjoy him freely, willingly, personally, as creatures made in his image and reflecting the divine freedom, and so it is to be expected that he would save us in a way consistent with this.  The essence of the Pelagian heresy is not found in actively exercising our human will towards salvation, but in doing so in a way that rejects faith and excludes trust in the necessary grace of God.

N.T. Wright, in his book Justification, makes the point that monergism, especially as it pertains to the Christian life after regeneration, implies a distrust or marginalization of the Holy Spirit and his indwelling in us. The working of the Spirit does not exclude human effort but purifies and redeems it, making possible true synergism (God and man working together in salvation). Wright says it better:
But the point about the holy spirit, at least within Paul's theology, is that when the spirit comes the result is human freedom rather than human slavery. When God works within a community, or an individual, the result is that 'they will and work for his good pleasure' (Philippians 2:13). (164)
the more the spirit is at work the more the human will is stirred up to think things through, to take free decisions, to develop chosen and hard-won habits of life and to put to death the sinful, and often apparently not freely chosen, habits of death.  (164)
True freedom is the gift of the spirit, the result of grace; but, precisely because it is freedom for as well as freedom from, it isn't simply a matter of being forced now to be good, against our wills and without our co-operation (what damage to genuine pastoral theology has been done by making a bogey-word out of the Pauline term synergism, 'working together with God'), but a matter of being released from slavery precisely into responsibility, into being able at last to choose, to exercise moral muscle, knowing both that one is doing it oneself and that the spirit is at work within, that God himself is doing that which I too am doing. If we don't believe that, we don't believe in the spirit, and we don't believe Paul's teaching. Virtue is what happens ... when the spirit enables the Christian freedom to choose, freely to develop, freely to be shaped, freely to become that which is pleasing to God. (164)
from one point of view the spirit is at work, producing these fruits (Galatians 5:22f), and from another point of view the person concerned is making the free choices, the increasingly free (because increasingly less constrained by the sinful habits of mind and body) decisions to live a genuinely, fully human life which brings pleasure--of course it does!—to the God in whose image we human beings were made. (167)
Humans become genuinely human, genuinely free, when the spirit is at work within them so that they choose to act, and choose to become people who more and more naturally act (that is the point of 'virtue' as long as we realize it is now 'second nature', not primary), in ways which reflect God's image, which give him pleasure, which bring glory to his name, which do what the law had in mind all along. That is the life that leads to the final verdict, 'Well done, good and faithful servant!' The danger with a doctrine which says 'you can't do anything and you mustn't try' is that it ends up with the servant who, knowing his master to be strict, hid his money in the ground. (168)
Orthodoxy has given me even more reason to reject monergism. Robin Phillips, writing of his journey from Calvinism to Orthodoxy, goes further than I did and actually calls it a heresy. His summary:
If all Calvinism were to be encapsulated by a single term it would be the word Monergism. The term comes from the Greek mono meaning “one,” and erg meaning “work,” and describes the notion that salvation is affected by only one agent, namely God. As R.C. Sproul explains it, “A monergistic work is a work produced singly, by one person… A synergistic work is one that involves cooperation between two or more persons or things.” While there is certainly a sense in which the Bible teaches that God is the only agent effecting salvation, Monergism goes wrong in denying that human beings are able to co-operate in the process of regeneration and salvation.
After acknowledging the good points of monergism (that it takes God's sovereignty, the fact that grace removes any ground for boasting, and that all the good we do is God working in us seriously), Phillips clarifies that "Where Monergism needs to be critiqued is when it takes these truths and formalizes them into a tight system, drawing further extrapolations which end up excluding important Biblical teaching about the role of human co-operation in the salvation process."

The center of Phillips' critique of monergism is that it "essentially sets up the relationship between God and man (as well as grace and nature) like two transactions in a zero-sum game." In other words, it views the accomplishment of salvation like a pie, and assigning any of that pie to man means taking some of it away from God, which is unacceptable. Ascribing any freedom, responsibility, or role in salvation to man means taking away from God's sovereignty and freedom. In monergism God's very divinity is thought to be based on his being the only free agent in the universe, especially as pertains to salvation. It is precisely this kind of zero-sum thinking as pertains to God and man that Phillips (and I, and the Orthodox Church) finds unacceptable. Contrasting with this is St. Maximos the Confessor, who believed (with the Orthodox consensus) that because humans are made in the image of God, they possess the same kind of self-determining freedom as God, constrained but not eliminated by our finitude and bondage to sin.

Phillips came to reject monergism because of "how it tinctured various practical areas of the Christian life." It leads to the conclusion (which I still struggle with) that prayer can't actually change things, since then it would be a 'work' and make God less than fully sovereign. "The prayer of a righteous man has great power in its effects" (Jas 5:16) indeed. Monergism inhibits pastoral ministry by creating an expectation of God acting independently of any human instrumentality; all we can do is preach the gospel to them (why do even this?) and let God do the rest. The grace-nature dichotomy which led Reformed worship to do-emphasize visual aids to worship to avoid distracting from God is also in tension with the worship of the early church which (as I will get into in two more posts) was "intensely material", involving icons, relics, incense, etc.

Phillips also asks the question: is God responsible for things he accomplishes through secondary means? If not (as is commonly believed by monergists), "then we are left with a system in which we can take the credit for most of the acts God performs in this world, since God accomplishes most things through means." But if so, how is God not then responsible for acts of sin and evil?

But while these are plenty of reasons to reject monergism as a false teaching, it is in a follow-up article that Phillips presents his reasons for actually considering monergism a heresy  (which, in Orthodoxy, does not simply mean any false teaching but one that contradicts a dogma/essential teaching of the Church). It goes back to the sixth ecumenical council (680-681) which condemned as heresy the teachings of monothelitism (Christ had only one, divine will, and no human will) and monoenergism (Christ is animated by only one 'energy', whatever that means). Both of these were thought to imply monophysitism (the previously-condemned heresy that Christ has only one, divine nature and is not fully human) The council affirmed that Christ has two natures, two wills, and two energies (human and divine), which always work together synergistically in the same way that we are called to cooperate our human wills with God's divine will. Vladimir Lossky interestingly explains a little more of this mystery and how divine will differs from human will:
The two wills proper to the two natures [of Christ] are different, but He who wills is one, though He wills in conformity with each of the two natures. The volition also has one object, because the two wills are united, the human will being freely subject to the divine will. However, this liberty is not our free will—γνωμη, that faculty of choice which belongs to the person. In fact, the divine person of the Word had no need to choose or decide by deliberation. Choice is a limitation, characteristic of our debased liberty; if the humanity of Christ could will in a human way, His divine person did not choose, it did not exercise free will as do human persons. (The Mystical Theology of the Eastern Church, 147)
You may be sensing where this is going. Monergism, much like the similarly-named monoenergism and monothelitism, is driven by zero-sum thinking regarding human and divine agency, the assumption that more freedom and responsibility for man means less for God, and God must have it all. In support of this, Phillips asks: in Calvinism, was Christ's human will sovereignly predestined to obey the Father, or was it exempt from the predestination of the rest of the human race? This question puts Calvinism in a bind. If Christ's human will was not predestined, then this sets a powerful precedent for truly synergistic cooperation between the human and divine wills. If it can be true for Christ (who is supposed to typify what humanity is made to be), why is it so unthinkable for other humans? But it if was predestined, then besides the confusing idea of Christ predestining himself, his human will seems to be reduced to a passive tool of the divine will—the key tenet of monothelitism.

In other words, monergism is a heresy because its key points about the relation between the human will and the divine will, when applied consistently to Christ's wills, result in heresy. Whatever you say about us and God, you should be able to say about Christ's human and divine natures. Once the analogy between Christ's two natures and our relations with God (an important belief of Orthodox Christology) is accepted, we see that synergism is implicit in the Christological canons of the ecumenical councils. This is why Orthodox synergism does not accept the zero-sum conception of human and divine agency, or nature and grace, but affirms that the work of salvation, just like Jesus himself, is 100% divine and 100% human. While salvation undoubtedly depends entirely on God, it also depends on us, on our active and free (albeit grace-enabled) cooperation with his working; God does not simply "help those who help themselves", but he also does not save apart from their active participation. Lossky interestingly describes this as God condescending to our liberty, which is a very interesting way to think about free will:
With a certain excusable inexactitude, one could say that God in His providence condescends to the liberty of men. He acts as a result of this liberty, co-ordinating his actions with the acts of created beings, in order to govern the fallen universe by accomplishing His will without doing violence to the liberty of creatures. (139)

Faith/Works

How are works indispensable to salvation without contributing to it or effecting it in any way?
Faith and works both justify, both are important to our salvation, and they should not be separated.

We come to an important point of divergence between Orthodoxy and evangelicalism. The faith/works distinction is very important to the evangelical gospel, and that of most Protestants. Reformation theology is very clear that the work of salvation is not dependent on our works (deeds, actions) in any way, but on our faith in Jesus Christ. (And this faith is still not what is effectual in accomplishing salvation; it is only the condition for receiving what is completely the work of God) Again, this distinction is correlated with (though far from particular to) Luther's theology, or more specifically his realization of how God in his justice could deal with us not according to our works (which are never sufficient to merit salvation) but according to Christ's righteousness, imputed to us by faith. Pelikan describes this insight:
Believing that [the justice of God in Rom 1:17] referred to 'the active justice of God,' which dispensed rewards and punishments, both temporal and eternal, in accordance with what the sinner deserved, Luther perceived such a 'gospel' to be a condemnation, not a consolation: 'Did God have to heap misery upon misery by the gospel, and by the gospel threaten us with his justice and wrath?' He found an answer to his question in a 'new definition of justice,' when he concluded that the justice of God revealed in the gospel was 'passive justice,' with which God invested the sinner through faith in Christ. (4.138)
Protestant soteriology, then, has as one of its axioms the distinction between faith and works: salvation, justification, regeneration, and all the promises of the gospel are not dependent on anything we work, earn, do, or merit, but only on our faith, which is itself not meritorious but simply allows us to receive God's grace (unmerited favor). Justification is by faith alone, as distinctly opposed to works (or some kind of faith-works mixture, which is what the Reformers accused the Catholic Church of peddling). John Piper, in his book the Future of Justification, emphasizes that the change in the divine disposition (justification) is secured by "the death and righteousness of Christ, counted as ours through faith alone. ... The one and only instrument through which God preserves our union with Christ is faith in Christ—the purely receiving act of the soul." (184) Making salvation in any way dependent on works is dangerous: "If we make the mistake of thinking that our works of love (the fruit of God's Spirit) secure or increase God's commitment to be completely for us, now and in the last judgment, we compromise the very reason that these works of love exist, namely, to display the infinite worth of Christ and his work as our all-sufficient obedience and all-sufficient righteousness." (185)

Of course, this faith-works distinction is presented with somewhat of an awkward challenge in interpreting James 2:24, presented here in context (emphasis added):
14 What does it profit, my brethren, if a man says he has faith but has not works? Can his faith save him? 15 If a brother or sister is ill-clad and in lack of daily food, 16 and one of you says to them, "Go in peace, be warmed and filled," without giving them the things needed for the body, what does it profit? 17 So faith by itself, if it has no works, is dead. 18 But some one will say, "You have faith and I have works." Show me your faith apart from your works, and I by my works will show you my faith. 19 You believe that God is one; you do well. Even the demons believe—and shudder. 20 Do you want to be shown, you shallow man, that faith apart from works is barren? 21 Was not Abraham our father justified by works, when he offered his son Isaac upon the altar? 22 You see that faith was active along with his works, and faith was completed by works, 23 and the scripture was fulfilled which says, "Abraham believed God, and it was reckoned to him as righteousness"; and he was called the friend of God. 24 You see that a man is justified by works and not by faith alone. 25 And in the same way was not also Rahab the harlot justified by works when she received the messengers and sent them out another way? 26 For as the body apart from the spirit is dead, so faith apart from works is dead. (Jas 2:14-26)
If justification is by faith alone, what can James mean here? Again there is Protestant consensus: works do not in any way secure or accomplish salvation, but they do confirm it. The faith that allows us to truly receive justification, if it is authentic, should produce good works (or "fruit", in the biblical terminology; see Mat 3:8, 12:33; John 15). Again (it cannot be emphasized enough) these good works do not save us, but they should be expected to follow after the faith that does save us. This article explains three ways in which deeds relate to salvation: we are justified by Christ's deeds and the righteousness therein, we are invited to "work out our salvation" (Phil 2:12) and actively live by the Spirit (Rom 8:13, Gal 6:7-8) after we have been saved, and we will be rewarded for our good works at the last judgment. Works are not the ground of salvation, but they do have a place in it. In James' terminology, our faith is "completed by works" (2:22).

In short, the relationship between faith and works in Protestant theology is strictly one-directional: only faith saves us, and this faith gives rise to works, so salvation does not depend in any way on works. This is the intent of the doctrine of justification by faith alone.

Section three of this article contains a short summary of the Orthodox view on the Protestant faith/works distinction. The second paragraph is highly descriptive:
It is futile to rehash here the centuries of debate between Protestants and Roman Catholics on this issue. Let it suffice to say that for Orthodox, the debate over grace and works is something that has never found a foothold. It is an entirely Western argument, founded upon false concepts of grace and free will as largely espoused by St. Augustine. While acknowledging that the Church did synodally uphold the Blessed Hierarch's defense against Pelagianism, his views on grace and free will that were later to fuel theological debates in the West remained foreign to the ethos of Orthodoxy. They are not supported by the patristic consensus.
It goes on to critique the Protestant handling of James by pointing out the obvious fact that is skirted around: the only time in the Bible when the words "faith" and "alone" appear together is in James 2:24, where James specifically denies that faith alone justifies. In light of this, it is amazing that justification by faith alone has become such a cornerstone of Protestant soteriology. James does not say anything about faith and works justifying differently, or works being the confirmation of faith which alone justifies; he simply says they both justify. In light of this, 2:22 is read as a succinct description of synergism, like Phil 2:12-13. In the eastern reading, it is much easier to see James and Paul as being in agreement without forcing James to fit into a mold set by Paul, which is what I believe Luther did (he famously called it the "epistle of straw" and expressed the wish that it be removed from the canon). Roland Bainton, in his biography of Luther, describes his reading as "a Pauline construction upon James. The conclusion was a hierarchy of values within the New Testament. First Luther would place the Gospel of John, then the Pauline epistles and First Peter, after them the three other Gospels, and in a subordinate place Hebrews. James, Jude, and Revelation." (Here I Stand 259-261) In other words, the traditional Protestant reading of James amounts to an eisegesis of (Luther's interpretation of) Paul's theology into James' words.

The distinction and asymmetrical relationship between faith and works characteristic of Reformation theology is not a part of Orthodox theology. Apart from a juridical understanding of justification and zero-sum thinking about divine vs. human agency, it doesn't make sense to claim that works (with none of the meritorious connotations they have accrued in the west, but simply meaning "active, willing participation in the work of God") confirm our salvation without contributing to it. There is no worry that this will lead to works becoming a means to "earn" salvation because authentic salvation is not something it makes sense to "earn" like a wage. In Orthodoxy, salvation is not simply a one-time verdict of justification and monergistic act of regeneration (the temporal priority and singularity of justification is important for making it prior to and independent from works) but is more holistic, continuing throughout and even after life, so the believer can say with equal honesty, "I have been saved," "I am being saved," and "I will be saved." "Faith" and "works" are not opposing principles, nor is faith a substitute for works, but they are the two sides of how we respond to and cooperate with God's grace as part of our new life in Christ. (The New Perspective on Paul echoes this point, and also reminds us that "works" is not an abbreviation for "works of the law')

I should mention that I am acquainted with the kind of dead works which Luther and other Reformation theologians so endlessly warn against. Sometimes I am tempted to reassure myself (or claim to others) that I am doing "all right" spiritually because I read my Bible and pray every morning, or because I give away a good portion of my income to charity and missions, or because I am fasting from meat for Great Lent. This would be to turn my works (good as they are) into a crown of laurels and rest on them, thinking that they in any way excuse me from continuing to battle for holiness. To do so would indeed be sin. Where I differ from Luther is that I do not think that this impulse is the basis of all sin or the ultimate heresy lurking behind every theological bush, or that my works can earn "merit" that counts toward my salvation in some kind of cosmic juridical economy of salvation. I believe it makes sense to focus more on the positive, Spirit-breathed role of works as the dynamic counterpart to faith after conversion than on the dangers of false works and self-righteousness, both because this puts the emphasis on what we are saved to rather than on what we are saved from and because it helps avoid the confusion I went through over what exactly one is supposed to "do" vs. allow God to do after becoming a Christian.

Justification/Sanctification

How can we encourage believers to live out their salvation without making God's promise of justification by faith alone seem dependent on works?
How do the promises of God come together in the mystery of deification?

The last dichotomy relating to the gospel I'd like to emphasize is that between justification and sanctification. In typical Protestant usage, justification refers to "the establishment (or re-establishment) of the right relation between God and man" (Pelikan 4.147) by way of the forgiveness (non-imputation) of our sin and the positive imputation of Christ's righteousness to us. This theme, and the fact that it came gratuitously on the basis of faith, apart from any merit or effort on our part, was considered by Luther (and classical Protestantism) as the very heart of the gospel, the article by which the church stands or falls, as seen in passages like Psa 32:1-2, Rom 4:4-8 (which quotes it), or 2 Cor 5:19: "in Christ God was reconciling the world to himself, not counting their trespasses against them". Calvin defines justification with his usual precision:
A man is said to be justified in the sight of God when in the judgment of God he is deemed righteous, and is accepted on account of his righteousness; for as iniquity is abominable to God, so neither can the sinner find grace in his sight, so far as he is and so long as he is regarded as a sinner. ... Thus we simply interpret justification, as the acceptance with which God receives us into his favor as if we were righteous; and we say that this justification consists in the forgiveness of sins and the imputation of the righteousness of Christ. (3.11.2)
Thus the lifeblood of the reformers' gospel was an essentially forensic exchange: our sin and its curse are imputed to Christ, and his perfect, alien righteousness is imputed to us apart from anything we could do to earn it. Though most clearly taught by Paul in Romans and Galatians, according to Luther, the doctrine of justification was the central teaching of the Scriptures, "the very voice of the gospel". (4.148) In the miraculous exchange of imputation, "God reckons imperfect righteousness as perfect righteousness and sin as not sin, even though it really is sin" (4.149), which makes true life and the enjoyment of God's rich mercy possible. One more Pelikan quote illustrating the centrality of forgiveness/justification to the gospel (which is not, of course, said to be only the message of justification, essential though it is):
A coworker expressed Luther's teaching when he defined the gospel as 'the knowledge of the grace and mercy of God through Christ,' a message that announced 'the forgiveness of all sins and the inheritance of eternal life' through Christ, who was the 'mercy seat' of God. Another coworker put it more simply still: 'The gospel is a promise'; for 'the gospel teaches that Christ, the Son of God, has been given for us and is our righteousness before God. And one of Luther's own definitions read: 'The gospel is a discourse about Christ, that he is the Son of God and became man for us, that he died and was raised, that he has been established as Lord over all things.' (4.167)
All of this is thus to be kept distinct (but not separate) from the doctrine of sanctification, which encompasses the believer's continuing life in Christ, growth in holiness, and conformity to his image after the verdict of justification. Sanctification is still understood as the work of God, wholly dependent on his grace and power, but (depending on your Protestant tradition) also somehow involving the cooperation of the Christian. Once saved/justified entirely by grace, the believer is enabled by the Spirit to cooperate with God and "work out your salvation with fear and trembling" (Phil 2:12). Again, for anyone who is in Christ and has already been justified, salvation is secure and does not depend in any way on works; it is more accurate to say that sanctification makes our already-accomplished salvation manifest is allows us to enjoy it and its manifold blessings.

I have already done most of the legwork, in this post and the last, to say everything I need to about justification: its overly forensic definition and concept of imputation, how and why these things are viewed differently in the Orthodox Church, and its overcentralization to the gospel. To recap, God's justice, wrath or law, is not an enemy we are saved from but rather sin, death, and the devil; God is always unconditionally ready and willing to forgive without fear of compromising the "cosmic moral order"; there is no concept of merit as in the west that allows imputation to make sense; God is not at enmity with us and in need of reconciliation to us but rather the other way around; God's justice is more properly "satisfied" by the destruction of sin than by its punishment; and the resurrection is as important to justification as the crucifixion. As well, justification is held to be one dimension of salvation rather than nearly synonymous with the whole thing, a continuing rather than instantaneous reality, and it includes cleansing from sin as well as forgiveness.

For the moment I will focus on how all of these things affect the role of sanctification. Its very presence in Protestant vocabulary as a distinct concept is telling; as justification is ushered to the very "heart of the gospel", sanctification is correspondingly, necessarily marginalized, even if it is still affirmed as real and important. In my opinion there is simply no way to continue to speak of and approach justification in the way the early reformers did without making sanctification ancillary to salvation. You "get saved" by justification, then "confirm" or "manifest" your (already effectual and accomplished) salvation through sanctification. The latter simply seems (or seemed to me, at least) like an advance on the Christlike perfection that is already guaranteed you in heaven through justification. It is like the icing on the cake of salvation.

In post 4, I mentioned an analogy of the gospel as a bridge spanning from Death to Life and my observation: "The whole focus of evangelicalism is the bridge—how wonderful it is that it's there, and getting other people to cross it." (2012-10-14) The crossing of the bridge in this analogy corresponds to justification, and the problem is that so much attention is paid to getting across that bridge (and leading others to do the same) that relatively little thought is given to what to do once you're on the other side. Crossing the bridge, being justified, is the really important thing; everything after that is a sort of bonus. I have long found this depiction of the gospel unsatisfying, as I wondered in November 2011. What is the point of crossing the  bridge, of establishing a relationship with God? What happens next? Does the "raw gospel" end there? As I will cover more next time, the elevation of justification over sanctification means the prizing of the beginning moment of salvation over its continuing dimension. But if we are saved to eternal life (John 3:16) and not just an amazing conversion experience, there has to be a lot more to it than this.

As I mentioned last time, in Orthodox soteriology there is no analogue to Luther's justification-sanctification dichotomy and its various denominational flavors. Far from being nearly synonymous with it, justification is only one (comparatively minor) part of the rich tapestry of the gospel of salvation. As Eric Jobe explains, justification in Orthodoxy significantly differs from its Protestant usage in that it pertains to entering and maintaining a right relationship with God; it pertains not only to the beginning of salvation but its continuation. (That article also helpfully describes the relation between faith and works) Conversely, as Jobe says in his second article on the atonement the Orthodox liturgy of chrismation involves the pronunciation to the baptized, "Thou art justified. Thou art illumined. Thou art sanctified. Thou art washed"—treating both justification and sanctification as instantaneous events occurring at the moment of salvation. In Orthodox though there is little or no distinction drawn between being declared (or "recognized as") righteous and becoming righteous; they come together as one organic whole. There is no room for the towering, dogmatic view of justification promulgated by the Reformers; no single aspect of salvation should be ascribed this much importance and centrality. To do so is to throw the gospel dangerously out of balance.

This journal article by Ross Aden, a Lutheran theologian, helpfully compares Lutheran and Orthodox views on justification and sanctification. He observes firsthand the effects of the dichotomies I have been pointing out: "The Orthodox think of one continuous process, whereas the Lutherans distinguish the initial act of justification and regeneration from the process of sanctification." (90) Why, Aden goes on to ask, do Lutherans tend to contrast justification and sanctification (or describe the relation between them as strictly one-way)? He proposes that this impulse comes from fear of confusing (here come the other dichotomies) "works with faith, law with gospel, or sanctification with justification, and [making] all the promises of God concerning forgiveness of sin and everlasting life unintelligible and uncertain"—the pastoral concern to assure the troubled conscience and keep it from anxiety over whether it has done enough to be justified. "If what sinners are and do is not distinguished from what Christ is and does for them, then something besides the work of Christ might be assumed to be a condition of that divine sentence. And then the sense of the unconditional character of salvation would be lost and sinners would become anxious." (91)

He draws from Gerard Forde, another Lutheran theologian, in blaming the forensic metaphor of justification for this gap between redemption and ethics (as Schweitzer described it). Traditional Lutheranism and traditional Catholicism, representing the two sides of the Reformation, are in agreement on this matter; they are both "controlled by the fundamental metaphor of the divine law court, a metaphor which fails at the critical point because it cannot answer the very question of how the work of Christ changes the sinner." (92) In my own words, the anxiety of the guilty conscience that can never do enough to satisfy the righteousness/justice of God (to which Luther's doctrine of justification by faith alone is the solution) is an artifact of the distorted view of God's justice that I described last time which envisions it as his severity and wrath against sin, his inward-oriented demand for perfection and punishment of imperfection which punishes the guilty with death and must be "satisfied" by a meritorious blood sacrifice. Once this caricature is discarded and replaced with a biblical-patristic understanding of God's justice, justification is seen not to be the very heart of the gospel, and the need for all the traditional Lutheran dichotomies vanishes.

Aden goes on to describe the Orthodox alternative and the possibilities it presents as a soteriology free from the legal metaphor for salvation. The Christian east and west basically agree on the nature of salvation as communion with God, but differ on the obstacles to this communion that must be removed: sin and guilt (both our own and inherited) and the demands of divine justice vs. mortality and human corruption/weakness. In Orthodoxy there is also a more developed doctrine of what we are saved to, namely intimate communion with God through theosis. "Thus the Orthodox hope of salvation in its broadest sense is more than hope of a divine sentence of 'not guilty' or even of a beatific vision; it is 'human participation in the being of God ... a total sharing in the Triune life.' In such a perspective, no division can exist between justification and sanctification." (96) In summary:
This way of understanding the saving action of God is relational, not mechanical, that is dynamic, not static. What Lutherans have divided into justification and sanctification, Orthodoxy sees as two aspects of the single process of human transformation into union with the divine life. This growth in grace is initiated by the person and work of Christ; applied in baptism; nourished by the deifying grace of the Holy Spirit in Word, sacrament, and the disciplines of the spiritual life; expressed in love; and finally completed in the full realization of the goal for which humans were created: attainment of the likeness of God through personal intercommunion with Him. (99)
This, to me, is what it really means to distinguish between, but not separate, justification and sanctification.

Summary

The Lutheran pattern of soteriology with its need to draw up all of these sharp distinctions which I have been critiquing is based on the same misguided assumptions about God's justice which I addressed last time; PSA and its presuppositions constitute the thread which, when pulled out, begins to unravel the rest of the classical Protestant formulation of the gospel. The Law/Gospel dichotomy is unnecessary because the curse of the law and God's wrath are not truly the enemies the gospel saves us from; God is not the author of death and his justice does not need to be "satisfied" by punishment of sin in order to forgive. The Nature/Grace and Faith/Works dichotomies are dependent on a juridical understanding of justification as a legal verdict or change in the divine disposition that has to be "earned" by merit gained from obeying the law, combined with the concern that none of this merit come from us. The Justification/Sanctification dichotomy is likewise unnecessary because the point of justification is not simply, as Luther thought, to ease the anxious conscience plagued by fears of never measuring up to God's impossible standard of perfection; the problem is our own sin and estrangement from the author of life, not our failure to measure up to a standard of demanding, inward-oriented justice and the threat of subsequent punishment. In the Orthodox vision of the gospel, the well-worn but ultimately unworkable Reformation distinctions between faith and works, between "justification by faith alone" and "works-righteousness", are no longer necessary. There is no more risk of slipping into what I have previously called "the negative gospel", a gospel better-defined by what it is not than by what it is. (Though for converts like me, the danger of defining the gospel as the negation of its Protestant incarnation is real)

Orthodoxy offers a fleshed-out vision of the gospel that is more rigorously incarnational and Trinitarian. This manifests in its synergistic relation of faith and works which avoids the zero-sum thinking of monothelitism and its modern reiteration, monergism. What is true of the relation between Christ's natures is true of us and God in the application of salvation to mankind. Lossky succinctly relates the personal and incarnational aspects of the gospel: "What man ought to have attained by raising himself up to God, God achieved by descending to man." (136) Likewise, bringing justification and sanctification together also demonstrates closer cooperation between the Trinity: the Father justifying, the Son vivifying, the Spirit sanctifying, all as part of one (not two) great work of salvation. In Orthodox theology I see a much more holistic, less disjointed development of the gospel, which is one of the strongest reasons I feel drawn to it.