Few doctrines are more humbling than those captured in TULIP. Born depraved in mind, heart, and will; chosen not for anything in me; rescued and kept despite daily offenses to my God — these will lay a person low. But they will also lift him up to behold and be healed by a God worthy of the acclamation, “Salvation belongs to the Lord” (Psalm 3:8).

The doctrines of Calvinism have a way of both wounding and healing the human heart. They are sword and balm, stumbling block and safety net, thundercloud and rainbow.
The poet Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772–1834) once described Calvinism as a lamb in wolf’s skin: “cruel in the phrases,” but “full of consolation for the suffering individual.” The words unconditional election, for example, can feel rough on the surface; they can seem to snarl and bare their teeth. Yet as countless Christians have discovered, beneath Calvinism’s wolfish exterior is the softness of a lamb.
Some, however, have seen in the phrases of Calvinism not a lamb in wolf’s skin, but just a wolf (or just a lamb). How many have felt Calvinism’s offense (you’re calling me totally depraved?) and missed its comfort? And how many, alternatively, have reached for Calvinism’s comfort (“once saved, always saved”) without receiving its offense?
For some time now, Calvinistic Christians have captured the doctrine of salvation in the acronym TULIP (summarizing the 1619 Canons of Dort):

Total depravity
Unconditional election
Limited atonement
Irresistible grace
Perseverance of the saints

These phrases celebrate the saving, sovereign grace of God — the grace that offends and the grace that comforts. But in order to grasp both the offense and the comfort, we may do well to consider what these phrases do not mean, what TULIP never taught us.
Utter Depravity
Unfortunately, some people’s exposure to Calvinism begins and ends with the phrase total depravity. What do some people hear in those two words? As sinners, we are as fallen as we possibly could be. Nothing we do can be called good or kind or noble in any sense. The most wicked impulses stomp and strain like stallions within, restrained by the thinnest of reins. We are utterly depraved.
No wonder some hear total depravity, imagine their sweet but unbelieving Aunt Susie, and toss TULIP aside. But total depravity was never meant to teach utter depravity. Rather than claiming we are as fallen as we could be, the doctrine simply claims that every part of us is fallen. As the Canons of Dort put it, when our first parents fell,
they brought upon themselves blindness, terrible darkness, futility, and distortion of judgment in their minds; perversity, defiance, and hardness in their hearts and wills; and finally impurity in all their emotions. (III/IV.1, emphasis added)
Paul offers a similar testimony in Ephesians 2:3:
We all once lived in the passions of our flesh, carrying out the desires of the body and the mind, and were by nature children of wrath, like the rest of mankind.
By nature, we carry out (with our wills) the fallen desires of both body and mind. In other words, when sin entered the door of human nature, it made a home in every room. As a result, we are born “dead” to the things of God (Ephesians 2:1), spiritually helpless and unable to turn to him on our own.
Scripture uses stark language to describe human sinfulness: “Every intention of the thoughts of [man’s] heart was only evil continually” (Genesis 6:5); “The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately sick” (Jeremiah 17:9). Yet the image of God remains in fallen humans (Genesis 9:6; James 3:9). Unbelievers are capable of showing “unusual kindness” (Acts 28:2). Pagan poets can pen truth (Acts 17:28).
Even though these acts fall short of pleasing God — since “whatever does not proceed from faith is sin” (Romans 14:23) — they nevertheless reflect the power of God’s common grace to keep the totally depraved from becoming utterly depraved.
Unconditional Salvation
Calvinism offers deep, unshakable security for fragile people — but not the kind of security we sometimes imagine. Many of us, for example, assume that for our salvation to rest secure, it must be unconditional. If we must do A, B, or C in order to finally be saved, then it can feel like our little house of faith rests in a land of violent earthquakes.
We may hear the word unconditional in TULIP, therefore, and take a deep breath. Salvation doesn’t require anything of me, we may think. The U of TULIP, however, stands not for unconditional salvation, but for unconditional election — a doctrine Paul articulates in Romans 9:11–12 (among other places). Referencing Jacob and Esau, he writes,
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 him who calls — [Rebekah] was told, “The older will serve the younger.”
Notice the distinct lack of conditions in God’s choice to call Jacob rather than Esau. Jacob was not more deserving and Esau less deserving, for God’s election took place before the brothers had done anything “either good or bad.” In the words of Dort, God saw both men lying “in the common misery” (I.7). His choice, therefore, was unconditional.
But apart from election, salvation does indeed include conditions. Justification requires faith (Galatians 2:16). Sanctification requires striving (Philippians 2:12–13). Forgiveness requires forgiving (Matthew 6:14–15). And heaven requires holiness (Hebrews 12:14).
And yet, under the glorious promises of the new covenant, we can still take a deep breath; our house of faith can rest secure.
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Some today find divine simplicity to be a strange doctrine because it means God can not be made up of a combination of things. So how can God be Father, Son, and Spirit? I find this objection even stranger because those most known to affirm the Trinity such as Athanasius and Augustine found no such problem!

Divine simplicity is the answer to the question, “What is God made out of”? Is he like us, body and spirit? No. Jesus says God is Spirit (John 4:24). Is he matter and form? No. Genesis 1 and John 1 say God made all “matter.” He is not a creature, but the Creator. God is simple.
Despite how basic this doctrine of God is, many today question its truthfulness. Some claim that no Bible verse teaches the doctrine. Others believe simplicity means that God cannot genuinely be Father, Son, and Spirit. Still others simply think divine simplicity does not make sense.
I disagree. Divine simplicity is the second most basic doctrine in Scripture—after the fact that God exists. It is both biblical and simple to understand. And lastly, divine simplicity guarantees that God is Father, Son, and Spirit—that God is one and three.
Let me explain.
Is Divine Simplicity Biblical?
Since Divine Simplicity is the answer to the question “What is God made out of,” it is biblical insofar as the Bible tells us what God is. Everyone agrees that the Bible tells us who he is: Father, Son, and Spirit. But does it say what he is?
Straightforwardly so. Jesus tells us that God is Spirit (John 4:24). By contrast, Jesus says humans have bodies and souls (Matt 10:28). In Paul’s language, we might say we have an inner and outer man (2 Cor 4:16).
And this is why Jesus is so special. Remaining what he was (Spirit), he became what he was not (human). Or in John’s language, “the Word became flesh” (John 1:14). Or as Hebrews says, Jesus partook of flesh of blood like we have (Heb 2:14). The point is that as God, Jesus has no flesh and blood. God is Spirit (John 4:24).
So by denying that God by nature has flesh and blood, we affirm that he is simple—Spirit.
From here, we can ask all sorts of questions about the revelation of God in Scripture. Is God made up of matter—material things like we are? Well, no. He has no flesh and blood. He has no human body. He has no nerves. He has no eyeballs. Those are created things. But Genesis 1 and John 1 say that all things came into being through God’s creative activity.
If God was made up of material stuff, he’d be a creature. But he is the Creator. So by denying that God has material stuff, we affirm that God is simple.
To me, this has to be one of the most simple doctrines in Scripture. Although, I can understand why some people get confused. Sometimes, divine simplicity doesn’t seem to make sense when we read about it.
Does Divine Simplicity Make Sense?
By asking the question “What is God made up of?”, we might answer: well, he is not made up of quarks and neutrons. That makes sense to us who live in the 21st century. But if you told someone living in AD 1220 that God is simple because he has no quarks and neutrons, they’d think you were out of your mind!
But here is the thing. Christians have affirmed that God is simple for 2,000 years. The combination of things that God can be made up of changes over time, given the language people use and what seems normal to them.
We think quarks and neutrons are normal. Medieval Christians thought potentiality and actuality were normal. They might say, God is pure actuality, and it would make sense like gravity, neutrons, and quarks might make sense to us. It is the language of our day.
Since the doctrine is as old as Christianity (really, it is eternal), people have used language normal in the 500s, 800s, 1200s, and 2000s to speak of God being simple.
We don’t talk about potentiality and actuality, or God being pure act today.
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It is appropriate that Warfield’s last review included criticism of naturalism given his life spent defending supernaturalism. In between these two reviews is a period of forty-one years during which Warfield evaluated a wide variety of books including subjects as varied as agriculture, ships, and children’s books, along with the biblical-theological-confessional titles one would expect.

The more than two-hundred-fifty-page PDF document available for download at the end of this introduction is a table that includes seven columns of information about each of 1268 book reviews by Benjamin B. Warfield published in the journals issued by Princeton Seminary. A brief text within the table explains the runs and titles of Princeton’s journals and provides details needed for interpreting the table.
Warfield’s first review was published in The Presbyterian Review, April 1880, while he was professor of New Testament at Western Theological Seminary in Allegheny, and it critiques volume one of C. F. G. Heinrici’s Erklärung der Korinthierbriefe. The book is not an expository commentary but instead is concerned with history and the Corinthian people.
His last review considered two titles together and was published the month before his death in The Princeton Theological Review, January 1921. The first of the two titles is Hugo Visscher’s address about science and religion delivered before the four faculties of the Universities of Utrecht during the 284th anniversary of the institution. The second title is a tract by H. W. van der Vaart Smit that evaluated Visscher saying his view “seems to require Christianity to surrender to natural science” and it “appears to abolish all supernaturalism from the fact-basis and fact-content of Christianity.” Warfield maintained an interest in Dutch theology over the years and the Dutch showed their appreciation for his teaching when the Doctor of Sacred Theology was given him by Utrecht in 1913.
It is appropriate that Warfield’s last review included criticism of naturalism given his life spent defending supernaturalism. In between these two reviews is a period of forty-one years during which Warfield evaluated a wide variety of books including subjects as varied as agriculture, ships, and children’s books, along with the biblical-theological-confessional titles one would expect.
Free Download: A Table of B. B. Warfield’s Book Reviews in The Presbyterian and Reformed Review and its Predecessors
Dr. Barry Waugh attends Fellowship PCA in Greer, SC. This article is used with permission.
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