Sixteen Centuries of Faithful Disagreement:
Finding Peace in the Free Will Conversation
When you find yourself lying awake at night, troubled by seemingly irreconcilable biblical texts about God’s sovereignty and human responsibility—when sermon podcasts leave you more confused than comforted, when theological discussions on social media escalate into accusations of heresy from both sides—take heart. You are not the first believer to wrestle with these questions, nor will you be the last. The debate about free will and divine sovereignty has occupied some of the greatest minds in Christian history for over sixteen hundred years, and faithful, orthodox believers still disagree.
This should comfort you, not distress you.
The Stakes Are Real, But So Is the Confusion
Let’s acknowledge the genuine pastoral concern at the heart of this debate. How we understand the relationship between God’s sovereignty and human will affects how we pray, how we evangelize, how we understand suffering, and how we comprehend our own salvation. These aren’t merely academic exercises—they touch the very center of Christian life and practice.
Scripture presents us with what appears to be two parallel tracks of truth. On one hand, we read: “For those whom he foreknew he also predestined to be conformed to the image of his Son, in order that he might be the firstborn among many brothers. And those whom he predestined he also called, and those whom he called he also justified, and those whom he justified he also glorified” (Romans 8:29-30). The golden chain of salvation seems entirely God’s work, unbreakable and certain.
Yet we also encounter: “The Lord is not slow to fulfill his promise as some count slowness, but is patient toward you, not wishing that any should perish, but that all should reach repentance” (2 Peter 3:9). God’s genuine desire for all to be saved seems to grant real significance to human response.
Jesus himself declares, “All that the Father gives me will come to me, and whoever comes to me I will never cast out” (John 6:37), wedding divine certainty with human coming. Paul commands the Philippians to “work out your own salvation with fear and trembling, for it is God who works in you, both to will and to work for his good pleasure” (Philippians 2:12-13)—human responsibility and divine causation in the same breath.
If you find these tensions difficult to reconcile, you’re in excellent company. The church has been working through these same passages for centuries.
Act One: Pelagius and Augustine (Early 5th Century)
The first major battle lines in this debate were drawn not by armchair theologians but by men whose conclusions carried eternal weight. Pelagius, a British monk, arrived in Rome around 400 AD and was scandalized by what he perceived as moral laxity among Christians. Believers, he observed, were using the doctrine of grace as an excuse for continued sin. “I cannot do otherwise,” they would say, “for I am weak and sinful by nature.”
Pelagius would have none of it. He insisted that God’s commands presuppose humanity’s ability to obey them. Would a just God command the impossible? Pelagius taught that Adam’s sin affected only Adam—each person is born morally neutral, capable of choosing good or evil. While grace helps us, it is not absolutely necessary for salvation. We can, through the exercise of our free will, choose righteousness and live sinlessly if we truly commit ourselves.
This teaching troubled Augustine profoundly. The Bishop of Hippo had experienced firsthand the bondage of sin described so vividly in his Confessions. He knew that his conversion was not the result of his own seeking but of God’s relentless pursuit. “You have made us for yourself,” he wrote, “and our hearts are restless until they rest in you.” For Augustine, Pelagius’s theology evacuated grace of its meaning and made salvation ultimately a human achievement.
Augustine articulated what would become the foundation for much of Western theology: humanity after the Fall is in bondage to sin, unable to turn to God without grace. As he wrote, our will is free in the sense that it is not externally compelled, but it is not free to choose God apart from divine intervention. We choose according to our nature, and our fallen nature is enslaved to sin. “Give what you command,” Augustine famously prayed, “and command what you will.”
The Council of Carthage (418) and later the Second Council of Orange (529) condemned Pelagianism, affirming that salvation from start to finish is God’s gracious work. But the questions Pelagius raised about moral responsibility, the nature of grace, and the freedom of the will would not die. They would resurface with volcanic force eleven centuries later.
Act Two: Erasmus and Luther (1524-1525)
On September 1, 1524, Desiderius Erasmus published De Libero Arbitrio (On Free Will), a careful, measured critique of Martin Luther’s emerging theology. Erasmus, the prince of humanist scholars, was no friend of scholastic excess or papal corruption. He had paved the way for the Reformation through his Greek New Testament and his satirical attacks on church abuses. But Luther’s increasingly radical statements about the bondage of the will troubled him deeply.
Erasmus argued for what might be called a moderate position. Yes, humanity is deeply affected by sin, but we retain a “very little” (minimum) ability to cooperate with grace. Scripture issues commands, offers promises, and warns of judgments—all of which seem meaningless if we lack any capacity to respond. “If we are on the road at all,” Erasmus wrote, “by however small a distance, then we must acknowledge the role of free will.”
Luther’s response came in 1525 with De Servo Arbitrio (The Bondage of the Will), which he later called the only one of his books worth preserving. In this work, Luther unleashed the full force of his theological passion. He accused Erasmus of being like “a man trying to put out a fire by throwing oil on it.” The issue at stake, Luther insisted, was not peripheral but central to the gospel itself.
Luther distinguished between two kingdoms: in earthly matters, humans possess genuine freedom and responsibility. We can choose our vocations, make business decisions, and govern cities. But in spiritual matters—in everything about salvation—the human will is bound. It is either ridden by God or by Satan, Luther wrote with his characteristic vividness, like a beast of burden. It cannot stand in neutral territory.
Luther’s argument proceeds through Scripture like a battering ram. He examines passages Erasmus used to support free will and reinterprets them in light of what he sees as clearer texts about divine sovereignty. When God commands, Luther argues, He is not presupposing our ability but exposing our inability, driving us to seek grace. The commands reveal what God requires; the gospel reveals what God provides.
Central to Luther’s argument is his understanding of God’s nature. God is omnipotent and omniscient—His will is effective and His foreknowledge certain. “If God foreknows anything,” Luther writes, “it happens necessarily.” Not by coercion, but by the certain outworking of God’s sovereign will. To suggest that God’s will can be resisted or His plans thwarted is, for Luther, to deny His deity.
Yet Luther does not advocate fatalism. He insists that from a human perspective, we must preach as if everything depends on human response. We call, plead, warn, and invite—not knowing who the elect are, treating all as potentially savable. The tension between divine sovereignty and human responsibility is not resolved but maintained, each truth proclaimed without compromise.
The Erasmus-Luther debate represents the high-water mark of Reformation-era discussion on this topic. These were not small minds trading insults but theological giants wrestling with Scripture. And they reached different conclusions while sharing respect for biblical authority.
Act Three: Wesley and Edwards (18th Century)
Fast forward two centuries to another pair of theological titans: John Wesley and Jonathan Edwards. Both were evangelists, both saw remarkable revivals, and both shaped Anglo-American Christianity profoundly. And both disagreed fundamentally on the question of the will.
Jonathan Edwards, pastor in Northampton, Massachusetts, and one of America’s greatest philosophical theologians, developed what he called a “careful and strict inquiry into the modern prevailing notions of freedom of will.” His 1754 work Freedom of the Will remains one of the most sophisticated defenses of theological determinism ever written.
Edwards argued that the will is always determined by the strongest motive. We choose what we most want—what appears most desirable to us at the moment of choice. This doesn’t negate freedom, Edwards insisted, because freedom is the ability to do what you want, not the ability to want what you want. The latter is incoherent. True liberty is not indifference or randomness but the delightful determination to choose according to your nature.
The problem, Edwards argued, is that fallen humanity’s nature is corrupted. Apart from grace, we cannot and will not choose God because we don’t want to. The natural person “does not accept the things of the Spirit of God, for they are folly to him, and he is not able to understand them because they are spiritually discerned” (1 Corinthians 2:14). Only when God changes our nature through regeneration do we freely and joyfully choose Him.
John Wesley, the founder of Methodism, held a different view despite his admiration for many Reformers. Wesley taught what became known as “prevenient grace”—grace that goes before and enables response. Because of Christ’s atonement, Wesley argued, God grants to all people sufficient grace to respond to the gospel if they will. This grace doesn’t force anyone but restores the capacity to choose God.
For Wesley, the Calvinist position (which he associated with Edwards) made God the author of sin and rendered evangelism and moral striving meaningless. If people cannot respond until God regenerates them, and God chooses whom to regenerate without reference to their choices, what motivation exists for holiness? Wesley’s own experience of spiritual struggle and his observations of revival convinced him that people genuinely can resist God’s grace or yield to it.
Wesley appeals to passages like “Behold, I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in to him and eat with him, and he with me” (Revelation 3:20). Christ knocks; the opening is genuinely ours. Or again: “Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest” (Matthew 11:28). The invitation is universal and genuine.
Edwards would respond that such invitations are indeed genuine—but only those whom the Father draws will actually come (John 6:44). The call goes out to all; the Father’s drawing is particular.
Both men saw thousands converted under their preaching. Both believed they were faithfully proclaiming Scripture. Both left theological legacies that continue to shape evangelical Christianity. And they disagreed.
The Enduring Tensions in Scripture
Why has this debate persisted? Because Scripture itself presents us with genuine tensions that resist easy systematization. Consider these parallel tracks:
On Divine Sovereignty:
- “In him we have obtained an inheritance, having been predestined according to the purpose of him who works all things according to the counsel of his will” (Ephesians 1:11)
- “Even as he chose us in him before the foundation of the world” (Ephesians 1:4)
- “No one can come to me unless the Father who sent me draws him” (John 6:44)
- “When the Gentiles heard this, they began rejoicing and glorifying the word of the Lord, and as many as were appointed to eternal life believed” (Acts 13:48)
On Human Responsibility:
- “Choose this day whom you will serve” (Joshua 24:15)
- “If you will enter life, keep the commandments” (Matthew 19:17)
- “Whoever believes in him is not condemned, but whoever does not believe is condemned already” (John 3:18)
- “The times of ignorance God overlooked, but now he commands all people everywhere to repent” (Acts 17:30)
Neither set of passages can be dismissed or explained away. Both represent genuine biblical teaching. The question is how they relate to each other.
The Augustinian-Calvinist tradition emphasizes that divine sovereignty is ultimate and meticulous. God’s decrees are certain; His purposes cannot be thwarted. Human choices are real but secondary—they are the means by which God’s sovereign will is accomplished. We choose freely (according to our desires), but God ordains both the choices and the desires that lead to them. As Edwards argued, God’s universal sovereignty doesn’t eliminate but establishes human responsibility.
The Arminian-Wesleyan tradition emphasizes that human responsibility requires libertarian freedom—the genuine ability to choose otherwise. God’s sovereignty is real but self-limited; He has chosen to make His ultimate purposes conditional on human response. God foreknows what we will choose but does not foreordain our choices. His desire that all be saved (1 Timothy 2:4) is genuine, but He will not override human will.
What Both Sides Affirm Together
Despite deep disagreements, orthodox Christians across this spectrum affirm crucial common ground:
First, salvation is entirely of grace from start to finish. No one earns salvation. No one deserves it. Even the Arminian affirms that faith itself is enabled by grace—we believe because God first worked in us. “For by grace you have been saved through faith. And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God, not a result of works, so that no one may boast” (Ephesians 2:8-9). Both sides sing “Amazing Grace” with full conviction.
Second, humans are genuinely responsible for their choices. Even the strictest Calvinist affirms that we choose according to our desires and are accountable for those choices. God does not coerce. We are not puppets. When we sin, we sin willingly; we cannot blame God. “Let no one say when he is tempted, ‘I am being tempted by God,’ for God cannot be tempted with evil, and he himself tempts no one” (James 1:13).
Third, the gospel must be preached to all without distinction. “Go into all the world and proclaim the gospel to the whole creation” (Mark 16:15). We do not attempt to discern who is elect before evangelizing. The call goes out universally: “Believe in the Lord Jesus, and you will be saved” (Acts 16:31). Both Calvinist and Arminian evangelists plead with sinners to come to Christ.
Fourth, God is both just and merciful. He does not act arbitrarily or capriciously. Whatever His decrees may be, they flow from His perfect nature. “Shall not the Judge of all the earth do what is just?” (Genesis 18:25). We may not understand all His ways, but we trust His character.
Fifth, the mystery exceeds our comprehension. “Oh, the depth of the riches and wisdom and knowledge of God! How unsearchable are his judgments and how inscrutable his ways!” (Romans 11:33). Both traditions acknowledge that we “see in a mirror dimly” (1 Corinthians 13:12) and that human categories strain under the weight of divine reality.
Why This Debate Persists (And Why It Should)
The free will debate continues not because previous generations were foolish or inattentive to Scripture, but because Scripture presents genuine complexity that resists simple resolution. The biblical authors themselves don’t seem troubled by the tensions we find troubling. Paul can speak of predestination and human responsibility in the same letter, often in the same passage, without apparent concern for reconciling them to human satisfaction.
This suggests something important: perhaps the tension is meant to be maintained rather than resolved. Perhaps both truths—divine sovereignty and human responsibility—are meant to function regulatively in Christian life without being integrated into a seamless philosophical system.
When we emphasize God’s sovereignty, we are driven to humble dependence, grateful worship, and confidence in His purposes. We don’t trust in our wisdom or strength but in His immutable promises. We rest in His goodness rather than fearing our weakness might thwart His plans.
When we emphasize human responsibility, we are motivated to urgent evangelism, serious discipleship, and moral striving. We don’t presume upon election or become passive. We work out our salvation with fear and trembling, knowing that commands to believe, repent, and persevere are genuinely addressed to us.
Both emphases are biblical. Both are necessary. The danger comes when we so emphasize one that we functionally deny the other.
Practical Wisdom for Perplexed Believers
If you find yourself troubled by this debate, consider these pastoral encouragements:
First, recognize that you can be saved without resolving this debate. The thief on the cross understood nothing of the intricacies of divine sovereignty and human will. He simply cried out, “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom” (Luke 23:42)—and Christ assured him of paradise. Theological precision is valuable, but it’s not the basis of salvation. Saving faith rests in Christ, not in perfect systematic coherence.
Second, appreciate that faithful Christians hold different views. Augustine, Luther, Calvin, Edwards, Whitefield, and Spurgeon emphasized divine sovereignty. Arminius, Wesley, Moody, Billy Graham, and C.S. Lewis emphasized human freedom (to varying degrees). All were used mightily by God. All loved Scripture. All exalted Christ. Your view on this question doesn’t place you in or out of orthodoxy—unless you deny either God’s sovereignty or human responsibility entirely.
Third, hold your convictions with appropriate humility. If sixteen centuries of debate among brilliant, godly scholars haven’t produced consensus, perhaps you shouldn’t be too confident that you’ve figured it out definitively. This doesn’t mean all views are equally valid, or that truth doesn’t matter, but it should temper dogmatism and increase charity. “As for the one who is weak in faith, welcome him, but not to quarrel over opinions” (Romans 14:1).
Fourth, let Scripture speak with its own emphases. When Paul writes about predestination in Romans 9, don’t rush to qualify it with James’s emphasis on works or Peter’s emphasis on human choice. Let Paul make his point. When Jesus issues universal invitations, don’t immediately insert qualifications about effectual calling. Let the invitations stand in their fullness. Read each text on its own terms, trusting that the tensions exist for a reason.
Fifth, focus on what unites rather than what divides. You can partner in gospel ministry with those who hold different views on these questions. You can pray together, evangelize together, and build up the body of Christ together. The enemy delights when we separate over secondary issues while the world perishes.
Sixth, remember that God’s ways exceed our categories. The same Bible that presents divine sovereignty and human responsibility also presents God as three persons yet one essence, presents Christ as fully God and fully man, and presents Scripture as divinely authored yet humanly written. These mysteries don’t undermine Christianity—they reflect the reality that God is greater than our ability to comprehend. Our theological systems are maps, not the territory itself. They’re useful but limited.
The Encouraging Bottom Line
Here’s what should comfort you most: the debate about free will has occupied some of the greatest Christian minds in history—Augustine and Pelagius, Luther and Erasmus, Edwards and Wesley—and the church has survived. Not just survived, but flourished. Revivals have happened under preachers of both persuasions. Saints have been formed in both traditions. The gospel has advanced through both camps.
This suggests that God is less concerned with our achieving perfect systematic coherence than with our faithful proclamation of His word, our humble dependence on His grace, and our urgent engagement with His mission. He uses Calvinist evangelists and Arminian evangelists. He blesses Reformed churches and Methodist churches. He inhabits the praises of those who emphasize sovereignty and those who emphasize responsibility.
When Paul faced theological confusion in the Corinthian church, he didn’t give them a complete systematic theology. Instead, he pointed them to Christ: “For I decided to know nothing among you except Jesus Christ and him crucified” (1 Corinthians 2:2). That remains the center that holds.
You don’t need to resolve the free will debate to pray confidently, knowing that God hears. You don’t need to figure out predestination to evangelize urgently, knowing that people genuinely need to hear and respond. You don’t need to systematize divine sovereignty and human responsibility to rest in God’s promises, knowing they are Yes and Amen in Christ.
If Pelagius and Augustine couldn’t settle it definitively in the fifth century, if Luther and Erasmus couldn’t resolve it in the sixteenth century, if Edwards and Wesley couldn’t reconcile it in the eighteenth century—maybe, just maybe, it’s okay that you’re still working through it in the twenty-first century.
The debate occurred long before you were born. It will likely continue after you die. But Jesus Christ remains “the same yesterday and today and forever” (Hebrews 13:8). The gospel remains the power of God for salvation to everyone who believes. The Spirit remains present to lead you into truth. The church remains the pillar and buttress of truth.
So work through these questions with diligence. Read both sides charitably. Study Scripture carefully. But don’t let the debate paralyze you or rob you of joy. Don’t let it become an excuse for avoiding evangelism or pastoral ministry. And don’t let it separate you from brothers and sisters who see things differently.
God is sovereign—of that, all Christians agree. Humans are responsible, of that, all Christians agree. How these truths relate in the mind of God remains partly mysterious. And that’s okay.
Because at the end of the day, your salvation doesn’t depend on solving this mystery. It depends on Jesus Christ, “the founder and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God” (Hebrews 12:2).
Rest there. Debate well. Love much. And trust that the God who holds all things together—including truths that seem contradictory to us—knows exactly what He’s doing.
“For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, declares the LORD. For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts” (Isaiah 55:8-9).
That promise, paradoxically, is both humbling and deeply comforting. And it’s been comforting confused, but faithful believers for a very long time.
Soli Deo Gloria