Karl Barth: The doctrine of a ‘limited number’ of the elect is, in particular, not good doctrine…

While both Karl Barth and Pierre Maury were schooled in what has been called the continental Reformed tradition, they were both very much aware of the British branch of the Reformed family as evidenced, for example, by Barth’s 1923 lecture cycle on the Reformed Confessions in his first academic post at the University of Göttingen, in which he made some quite withering comments about the Westminster Confession. It is well known how much he admired the Scots Confession of 1560 from his subsequent Gifford Lectures at Aberdeen in 1937/8. He said then how much he regretted the fact that the Scotica had ‘become obsolete with just some remaining historical significance. He also lamented the way ‘the doctrine of predestination was handled’ asserting that: ‘This doctrine treats of what God does, not what happens to the human person’[1]. Westminster is recognised as important with regard to the ‘documentation of the establishment of Calvinism in England’[2] but ‘this final product is a tragedy. It can only show us how Calvinism’s triumph was its death’[3]. He went on to qualify this critique by pointing out ‘The positioning of the doctrine of predestination at the head of the system..’ is not consistent with Calvin’s treatment which is not found until the third book in chapter 18[4]. When one considers Barth’s critique of the classical Reformed position in CD II/2 in 1942 it is worth noting that he had come to such a conclusion nearly 20 years earlier – ‘When the question of human salvation becomes the decisive perspective in Christianity, then it should be no surprise when also the question of human truth becomes decisive in an immodest and irrelevant way’.[5]

When in July of the same year he was describing and analysing the Synod of Dort, he parted company with the ‘fathers’: ‘They share with their opponents an interest in the psychological state of the individual, that is in the question of whether this or that person might be elect[6]. He then reminded his audience how ‘this interest became dominant in the second and third generation of Reformed theology[7]. He stated unequivocally that in his view ‘the actual interest in this question was the first crack in the wall of the church itself. They were thinking anthropologically rather that theologically, when they made the ‘absolute decree’ (decretum absolutum), which is a profound statement about God, into a doctrine not just about humanity but about this or that person….The doctrine of a ‘limited number’ (numerus clausus) of the elect is, in particular, not good doctrine; it ties God down to particular people, when the meaning of the entire doctrine is precisely the freedom of God….as against ‘the intolerable approach of the British’.

RevProfJamesBTorrance

The late Professor James B Torrance contributing to a 1982 work The Westminster Confession in the Church Today pointed out some of the weaknesses he saw not so much in what it said but in the whole schema’[8]and ‘the growing emphasis on election and the doctrine of the decrees of God[9] – on double predestination, and the decided move to a view where election precedes grace, so that the interpretation of the Person and Work of Christ is subordinated to the doctrine of the decrees, and seen as God’s way of executing the decrees for the elect. The result is that grace is limited to the redemption of the elect’[10].

This raises again the question of the scope of salvation, something which both Barth and Maury wrestled with and which we still have to reckon with in our day. Thirty years ago George Hunsinger, in his magisterial work How to Read Karl Barth – The Shape of his Theology, in a chapter discussing salvation and particularly in this instance what he called ‘Soteriological Objectivism’, cited Barth ‘The truth of our existence is simply this—Jesus Christ has died and risen again for us. It is this and this alone which is to be proclaimed to us as our truth’ (II/l, 167). He then went on to develop this theme: ‘Soteriological objectivism is a motif which Barth develops with uncommon and perhaps unprecedented consistency. Even when not neglected, the objectivist moment in the event of salvation is not usually understood, within any given Christian theology, as taking unqualified conceptual priority at all points over the more subjectivist or existential moments. Indeed, the more usual procedure, at least in Western theology, would seem to be that the objectivist moment is ordered, whether loosely or tightly, implicitly or explicitly, so as to exist (at least at some point) in the service of the subjectivist or existential moments, and to that extent in subordination to them. Even when objectivist moments like predestination or the atoning work of Christ on the cross are strongly emphasised, as they are for example in theologies like those of Augustine or Calvin, the more existential moment still is not thoroughly subordinated to them insofar as the event of faith itself may in some sense be regarded as decisive for the occurrence of salvation. Coming to faith or failing to do so is, in such theologies, ultimately decisive for whether salvation actually obtains or not in the case of any particular individual……. Calvin’s understanding of how the objectivist and existential moments of salvation are related is developed with a consistency which at times approximates that later achieved by Barth. Especially insofar as Calvin’s theology approaches a doctrine of limited atonement, a doctrine which would make his theology of the cross consistent with the argument for double predestination in Book III of the Institutes, the objectivist moments would seem to be decisive and determinative in some thoroughgoing sense for whatever may occur existentially in someone’s coming (or not coming) to faith. However, not even Calvin, it would seem, could entirely disregard those aspects of the New Testament witness in which the objectivist moments of salvation are associated in some sense with the idea that salvation is not limited but universal in scope, especially as accomplished by Christ on the cross. In any case, the approach to a doctrine of limited atonement remained ambiguous in Calvin’s theology as a tendency that was not fully brought to conceptual realisation. What did not remain ambiguous was the idea that one’s coming to faith is constitutive in any given case to the actual occurrence of salvation. Those without faith are not saved.[11]

It is noteworthy that Pierre Maury in 1936 was also very much alert to the fact that ‘salvation is not limited but universal in scope’. In his seminal paper Election et Foi given at the Congrès International de Théologie Calviniste in Geneva, 1936 (published in Foi et Vie, April–May 1936, and in German under the title “Erwählung und Glaube” in Theol. Studien, Heft 8, 1940) and which I have translated in my book Election, Barth, and the French Connection: How Pierre Maury Gave a “Decisive Impetus” to Karl Barth’s Doctrine of Election[12], he said:

What we are concerned with here in double predestination is unbelief and faith—the unbelief of the believer and the faith of the unbeliever which dogs us still, alas! on this earth, this believer is, if you will, according to the Pauline image, the old man and the new man. As those who do not believe and are hardened, we are rejected by the wrath of God; as those who accept the divine mercy, we subscribe to his judgements and his grace, so God accepts us. I say us and not this one or that one, the reprobates and the elect, because we’re talking about us and no one else. If we do not understand this at all, it is precisely because we would be hardened, given over to condemnation. Predestination is therefore very much double, not as if there were two categories of people that it would separate by sorting, but double because of having two terms: election and rejection, grace and condemnation. So we can apply this double decree to ourselves, because we deserve the negative verdict in it as much as we welcome the positive grace in it. In other words, double predestination is a truth which only the church knows and never philosophy, but also a truth which concerns the church and which the church is only able to preach to her members.

Is not this the only answer we can give to those who, concerning election, do not ask theoretical questions at all about God’s righteousness but are deeply concerned about what happens to the “others,” the rejected, those whom Calvin presented as the necessary terrible counterpart to the blessed elect of God? Are there elect, are there reprobates, all of them sovereignly, incomprehensibly, freely chosen by God? It is not up to us to pose this question; we need to hear it asked about us. It is not our place to reply. What is more, we do not have any choice to make. It is God, or rather Jesus Christ, who reserves the right to pass judgement, that is to say, the authority to put some at his right hand side and some at his left. Moreover, this discrimination has been prophesied, that is to say, described as a reality of the last day, hidden until then. There are not elect and reprobate, there will be elect and reprobate. Down here until the last day, no one is elsewhere than around the cross (this is the universalistic sense of the word of Jesus in John 12:32, “When I am lifted up from the earth, I will draw all men to me.”) And, around the cross there are no privileged places, that is to say, places where one would have less need than the others of the pardon of the cross. Even more: there is no one that the cross cannot save (hence the universalistic sense of Paul’s phrase, “God has shut up all men in disobedience so that he may be merciful to all” (Rom 11:32).) Around the cross, there is everyone, because the cross is for everyone, all enemies of God, all loved by God: the godless and the pious believer, the adulterer and the honest person, the lost and the saved, no exception of persons. In Christ, the others will always be, for the believer, “those brothers for whom Christ has died,” never the rejected which one could despise or pity, (even if it were with all one’s soul)’.

This raises again the ‘spectre’of universalism or the apokatastasis But here I concede again to George Hunsinger and his very insightful treatment of this question in the same chapter mentioned above.

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The Universality of Salvation in Christ[13]

‘The full implications of Barth’s position become clear when it is realised that he understands salvation in Christ not only to be real, hidden, and yet to come, but also to be universal in scope. Jesus Christ is the inclusive human being in a sense that is universal and universally valid. Not just some but all human beings are “included in this One” (IV/2, 271). Not the cause of just some but the cause of all “is advocated and conducted by this One.” No one is excluded. “There is no one who does not participate in him in this turning to God. There is no one who is not . . . engaged in this turning. There is no one who is not raised and exalted with him to true humanity. ‘Jesus Christ lives, and I with him’ ” (IV/2, 271). The decision that has been taken for us in Jesus Christ does not apply only to those who come to have faith in him. It is a decision that “has been taken objectively for the world as well, and for all those who live in it” (IV/2, 275). The “ontological connection” that establishes our being in Christ pertains not just to believers, but to all other human beings and to every human being as such (IV/2, 275).

No one is righteous and holy before God except “in the truth and power” of Jesus Christ’s righteousness and holiness, but in this very truth and power all are included. His truth and power are not restricted in their extent. They are, objectively, “effective and authoritative for all, and therefore for each and every human being, and not merely for the people of God” (IV/2, 518). His accomplishment of our salvation concerns “all the human beings of every time and place” (IV/2, 519 rev.). With reference to the text that “He is . . . the firstborn of every creature” (Col. 1:15), Barth comments that we are to understand every human creature is exalted in Jesus Christ. “What took place in him—the exaltation of the human race, and therefore its sanctification for God—took place as the new impression of humanity as such” (IV/2, 519 rev.). His life, death, and resurrection took place for the salvation of all. “It was accomplished in the place of all others . . . with all the mercy of the love which seeks all; with all the seriousness of the will which extends to all; with all the power of the act which is done for all; with all the authoritativeness of the decision which has been taken for all” (IV/2, 519). In this uniqueness of his being and work, Jesus Christ is singular, but he is not isolated. “In his singularity Jesus Christ never was or is or will be isolated. For in this singularity he was and is and will be, and worked and will work, from and to all eternity, for all” (IV/2, 519). We overlook him completely if we do not see him in the place of all (and therefore also in our place), and in our own place (and therefore also in the place of all).

It is this universal scope of salvation that exposes the full implications of Barth’s soteriological objectivism. Salvation, as we have seen, is understood to be “effective and authoritative for all” regardless of whether one has come to believe in Christ yet or not (IV/2, 518). Barth thus thoroughly dispels any residual ambiguity that may traditionally surround the idea of “justification by faith,” to say nothing of other Christian ideas of salvation. Faith as such, as Barth understands it, is not to be regarded as saving for either of the two main (but very different) reasons that have traditionally been given in Western theology. Faith as such cannot be said to be saving either for the traditional Roman Catholic reason that faith is animated by love, nor for the traditional Protestant reason that it clings to its object. Faith is indeed animated by love, Barth would say, but only because it is so animated by its object. And it is solely the object clung to—not the faith that clings to it, nor the love animated by it—that can properly be said to be saving. Salvation is in no sense unequivocally manifest as an immanent process of transformation. Its truth simply cannot be seen directly in us, by attending either to our faith or to our love. For salvation is not essentially manifest but hidden, not essentially a process but an event, not essentially a transformation in us but a transformation in Christ, not essentially something we undertake but something we undergo. Salvation is miraculous in form and mysterious in content. It is an eschatological miracle and a christocentric mystery. It has already occurred decisively for our sakes in Jesus Christ. It does not first acquire significance or effectiveness at the moment someone comes to believe or in the animation of faith by love.

Jesus Christ is understood as objectively effective and significant in himself. He is the decisive locus of salvation prior to and independent of our faith (or lack of faith) as well as prior to and apart from our love (or lack of love). From this standpoint Barth is able to eliminate the last vestiges of an idea that lingers even within the theology of the Reformers (to say nothing of other theologies)—the idea that God’s grace is somehow conditional. For despite the denials of official doctrine that grace is conditional, and despite some very important moves in the opposite direction, in actual practice the Reformation proclamation of the gospel could still commonly take the following form: “If you repent and believe, you will be saved; if you do not repent and believe, you will not be saved.” Barth’s theology, by contrast, makes the following form of proclamation to be categorically normative: “This is what God in Jesus Christ has done for your sake; therefore, repent and believe.” The second form (which, of course, was also strongly validated by the Reformation) is obviously distinguished from the first by being unmistakably unconditional. It proclaims the gospel as an invitation to respond accordingly, and not in any sense as a summons (or an implicit threat) to do something (however defined) so as to include oneself within salvation’s reality and truth. Since, in Barth’s understanding, God has already freely included us, it falls to us henceforth freely to receive our inclusion as the gift it is proclaimed to be.

Three things are to be noted about the universalist direction evident in Barth’s objectivist soteriology.

First, the salient difference between Barth’s position and more traditional views has primarily to do with the locus of mystery. The great puzzle for more traditional views like those of Augustine or Calvin is why God should decide to save some but not others. Regardless of where the decision is thought to be taken—whether in predestination, in the cross, in the convergence of grace and faith in the individual’s spiritual life, in the last judgement, or in some combination of these and similar factors—it is still understood to be primarily a mystery about the inscrutable good pleasure of a deity who loves but does not save all (or who condemns all yet still saves a few). By contrast, the great puzzle for the Barthian view is more nearly anthropological than theological in location. The divine disposition, decision, and work for our salvation are presented in unequivocal terms. No disposition, decision, and work of God are to be found elsewhere than in Jesus Christ, who died to cancel our past, rose again to establish our future, and pleads for us to all eternity.

The mystery pertaining to God as such is not the puzzle of an inscrutable decision to save some, but not all. It is the mystery of an unfathomable mercy that (at great cost) saves all, not just some. But there is still a puzzle of what might be called the “dark mystery,” and it corresponds to the puzzle embedded in the more traditional views. The dark mystery for the traditional view is, as noted, that God does not will to save all. For the Barthian view, however, it is rather that not all human beings will to accept God’s salvation. The dark mystery is that human beings inexplicably (i.e., “inexplicably” within the terms of Barth’s theology) are by all appearances actually capable of rejecting the divine disposition, decision, and work in their favour. It is the puzzle of our rejection of grace, the mystery of sin, but here raised to a very high pitch, since salvation is somehow effectively rejected even though it fully avails for those who reject it. This is not the place to explore the intricacies of Barth’s conception of sin as a dark mystery. The point is simply that the problem of an inexplicable puzzle has been shifted but not eliminated. The puzzle for the more traditional view is that God’s will seems to be truly inconsistent. For the Barthian view it is that the human will to reject the divine grace, while actual, would appear to be truly impossible. It is Barth’s contention that the gospel finally leaves us with just this mystery, and not with some other “very different mystery” (IV/2, 520).

Second, despite his objectivist soteriology, Barth stops short, as widely noted, of unequivocally proclaiming universal salvation. The reason why Barth finds it necessary to stop short, however, is not always well understood. Criticisms of Barth for being inconsistent at this point are criticisms that he could fairly regard as irrelevant or at the very least as inconclusive. For what Barth would want to see would be a fully articulated theological alternative that did not result in an even worse inconsistency or puzzle than the one he thinks the gospel leaves us with. What is in the background here is the coherentism of Barth’s theological rationalism. No other proposal about what to do with the irresolvable puzzle of a dark mystery, Barth seems to argue, can be seriously advanced without infringing in some intolerable way on the remaining body of Christian beliefs. Logically, the puzzle could be either shifted or eliminated; but either way, the cost would be too high. Again, this is not the place to explore the intricacies of Barth’s position. It can at least be suggested, however, that from his point of view no conceivable alternative could avoid some intolerable doctrinal loss, such as infringing upon the fullness of divine sovereignty, the fullness of divine love, the radical human neediness for the miracle of grace, the actuality of human freedom as grounded in grace, or the evilness of evil and the sinfulness of sin. The material or coherentist inconsistencies that would result in either shifting or eliminating the puzzle would all be worse, Barth seems to propose, than placing the puzzle just where he leaves it.

Third, Barth therefore makes a very strong move in the direction of Universal salvation while leaving the question open. His objectivist soteriology points, as we have seen, in a universalist direction. At the same time, as we have also seen, the puzzle of our human rejection of grace is regarded as something that can be neither overlooked nor resolved by theological thought, and therefore as something that must simply be allowed to stand as an absurd or inexplicable fact which manifests the absurdity of sin. The universal efficacy of grace is therefore understood to mean that we may not give up hope for any human being regardless of his or her decisions in this life. Not even Judas—who is understood typologically as the culminating instance of those in the biblical narratives who are rejected by God, in that they have rejected their election— can be regarded as finally beyond the pale of hope (11/2, 458-506, esp. 501-5). This aspect of Barth’s thought is summed up in the following remark: “But it is only where there is no hope—and the Rejected on Golgotha, and the rejected in ourselves and in all others, has no hope— that there is real hope, for it is only there that the work of the Holy Spirit can intervene and proclamation can become comprehensible and faith really alive” (11/2, 458).

The puzzle of our human rejection of grace, on the other hand, is regarded as something that can in no way be minimised. The proper— one might almost say the normal—response to grace, and the only one that is theologically intelligible, is faith. Along with hope and love (and all that they entail), faith is the only possible event that corresponds properly to the event of grace (where “event” is understood in Barth’s special actualist and particularist sense). But we know not only that the event and decision of faith do not always occur, but also that they actually occur only in the case of a relatively few persons (when the human race is considered as a whole), and even more that even in those cases the occurrence is broken, intermittent, and far from perfect. This aspect of Barth’s thought may be summed up as follows: sin simply cannot be understood or explained. “There is no reason for it. It derives directly from that which is not, and it consists in a movement toward it. It is simply a fact, factum brutum. . . . To try to find a reason for it is simply to show that we do not realise that we are talking of the evil that is really evil” (IV/2, 415-16)

Therefore Barth sees no choice but to leave the question of universal salvation open. The actuality of the divine decision of grace in Jesus Christ undoubtedly avails for all. Yet over against this actuality stands the factum brutum of human sin, even and especially in the face of the divine decision of grace. To resolve the tension between these conflicting actualities cannot be the project of theological thought. Any attempt to resolve the tension conceptually would only result in an abstraction. The final extent of the circle of those who are saved is not our concern but God’s. How to resolve the tension between the mystery of a universally effective grace and the puzzle of a universally (in one way or another) persistent sin (even, that is, in the lives of the faithful) is a matter for the free decision of God. “If we are to respect the freedom of divine grace, we cannot venture the statement that it must and will finally be coincident with the world of the human race as such (as in the doctrine of the so called apokatastasis)” (II/2, 417 rev.). Nor, on the other hand, can the statement be ventured that not all will be included in the circle. “But, again, in grateful recognition of the grace of the divine freedom we cannot venture the opposite statement that there cannot and will not be this final opening up and enlargement of the circle of election and calling” (II/2, 418).

In itself the actuality of grace would lead to the statement, “All will be saved.” Yet in itself the actuality of persistent sin would lead to the opposite statement, “Not all will be saved.” Neither statement, however, is concrete in the sense Barth uses the term, for neither takes all the relevant actualities into account. “We avoid both these statements, for they are both abstract and therefore cannot be any part of the message of Christ, but only formal conclusions without any actual substance” (II/2, 418). The alternative is not merely a neutral agnosticism but rather a reverent agnosticism. It is not simply to leave the two statements balanced in dialectical equilibrium, but rather to see a definite pattern of priority and subordination. The alternative is to take both sin and grace with the full seriousness appropriate to each, and therefore finally to take grace more seriously than sin. “The sign,” writes Barth, “points unambiguously in one direction, that the gracious God is in the right and the human being who denies him is in the wrong. The free decision of God alone can lead further, but this step is one which gives us every reason and confidence to believe and hope that there will be further steps of the same kind, further confirmations and repetitions of the same truth, further signs pointing in the same direction” (11/2, 418 rev.). The pattern of grace, in other words, leaves every reason to hope that no one will finally be excluded, because the truth of salvation in Jesus Christ is such that there is always more grace in God than there is sin in us.

Therefore, according to Barth’s objectivist soteriology, the difference between believers and unbelievers is not that believers are saved while unbelievers are not. Nor, even more emphatically, is it that believers have acquired in themselves some spiritual or moral merit before God that unbelievers lack. On the contrary, believers and unbelievers are bound together not only by a solidarity in sin, but also and all the more by a solidarity in grace. What distinguishes Christians from non-Christians is not their ontic but their noetic situation. Christians will know, that is, in a way that non-Christians will not, of their own perilous situation in sin and of their all the more protected situation in Christ. They will know of the persistence of non-Christianity in their own lives as Christians.

Yet, however that may be, to the extent that we may be Christians in spite of our non-Christianity, our real distinction from non-Christians will consist in the fact that we know that Jesus Christ himself, and he alone, is our hope as well as theirs, that he died and rose again for those who are wholly or partially non-Christians, that his overruling work precedes and follows all being and occurrence in our sphere, that he alone is the perfect Christian, but that he really is this, and is it in our place. (IV/3, 342)

The rest of humanity “does not yet participate in the knowledge of Jesus Christ and what has taken place in him” (IV/3, 715). For those who do so participate, however, this participation is not just something but everything; not just neutral or intellectual knowledge, but liberating and life-renewing knowledge. This participation is not a small thing but a great thing—indeed, the only thing. It is a participation in knowledge whose content can be known only as it is continually proclaimed and shared—not only among those who already take part in it, but also among those who do not.

Those who take part in this knowledge by faith are understood as those who belong de facto to Christ here and now. Those who do not yet take part in this knowledge by faith, however, are not to be regarded apart from their relationship to him, or rather from his relationship to them. “Virtually, prospectively and de jure all human beings are his own” (IV/3, 278 rev.). They can only be addressed as those they already are “in virtue of the work and Word of God” (IV/3, 810). They can only be addressed according to the truth of their being in Christ, and therefore, if not as “anonymous” Christians (for their names in Christ are surely known to God), then most certainly as “virtual” or “potential” Christians—as Christiana designata or christianus designatus, as christiani in spe (IV/3, 810). For their being is understood “as already established and secured de jure in Jesus Christ” (IV/3, 811). The christological sphere is seriously misunderstood, if it is not seen to be “universal in its particularity” (IV/3, 279). As a universality that is real, hidden, and yet to come, it can only be seen as we look away from ourselves to Christ.

Hence all the required and necessary looking away from the world and all human beings, even from the Church and faith, in short from ourselves to him, can only be with a view to seeing in him the real world, the real human being, the real Church and real faith, our real selves. To be sure, we see them in all their differentiation and distinction. But we also see them in the communion which he himself has established, in the communication which he himself has actualised, with this very different Other, and therefore in their reality as promised, given, maintained and controlled by God in him. (IV/3, 279)’.

Bibliography

Barth, Karl. Church Dogmatics. Edited by G. W. Bromiley and T. F. Torrance. Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 2004.

Barth, Karl, The Theology of the Reformed Confessions. Translated and annotated by D. L. & J. L. Guder. Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2002.

Hattrell, Simon, ed. Election, Barth, and the French Connection: How Pierre Maury Gave a “Decisive Impetus” to Karl Barth’s Doctrine of Election. (2nd Edn) Translated by Simon Hattrell. Eugene, Or.: Pickwick Publications, 2019.

Hunsinger, George. How to Read Karl Barth: The Shape of his Theology. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1991.

Maury, Pierre. “Election et Foi.” Foi et Vie 27 (1936) 203–23.

———. La Prédestination. Geneva: Labor et Fides, 1957.

———. Predestination and Other Papers. Translated by Edwin Hudson. London: SCM, 1960.

Torrance, James. “Strengths and Weaknesses of the Westminster Theology.” In The Westminster Confession in the Church Today; Papers Prepared for the Church of Scotland Panel on Doctrine, edited by Alasdair I. C. Heron, 41-53. Edinburgh: The Saint Andrews Press, 1982.

[1] Barth, The Theology of the Reformed Confessions, 133. This is also the title of one of Pierre Maury’s 1954 lectures to the World Council of Churches Assembly at Evanston, USA – ‘Election of God by God: Election as a Theological and not an Anthropological Doctrine’, Hattrell, 88-96.

[2] Ibid, 135.

[3] Ibid, 135.

[4] Ibid, 136, ‘It is for his own sake, then, that the religious person makes this highest statement about God; in order to escape the paradox of one’s existence, the human transfers it to God. This intention of reassurance, which is profoundly pietistic and egotistic, is the worm in the timberwork, not the doctrine itself’! (my emphasis)

[5] Ibid, 137.

[6] Ibid, 215.

[7] Ibid, 216.

[8] Torrance, Strengths and Weaknesses of Westminster Theology, 45.

[9] ‘..Wherefore they who are elected being fallen in Adam, are redeemed in Christ, are effectually called unto faith in Christ by His Spirit working in due season…..Neither are any other redeemed by Christ, effectually called, justified etc…but the elect only’ – Ch. III, Sec. 6.

[10] Ibid, 46.

[11] Hunsinger, How to read Karl Barth, 103-4.

[12] Maury, Election and Faith, 52-53.

[13] Hunsinger, How to read Karl Barth, 128-135.

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