The Augustinian monk, Martin Luther, would later apply this theorem to pastoral care. Specifically, he accentuated how the mixing up of theological concepts and their implicit orders, such as the fundamental differences between things pertaining to the realm of Law and those of the Gospel (i.e. confusing the commands and promises of God), was evil and harmful.19 Confusing the letter that kills with the spirit that gives life is spiritual suicide (2 Cor 3:6). Accordingly, the God-fearing navigator fluctuates between the poles of what we ought to do but are unable, and what Christ has done on our behalf and in our stead. For example, the question regarding what “Jesus would do” in any particular moral instance provides little guidance in the cogitations of our ethical decision-making. Routinely boycotting a company’s products because of their link to abuse in the developing world presumes the existence of morally uncontaminated multinationals. How do our political alliances shift when Palestinian Christians outnumber Messianic Jews? Moreover, innocent children huddle on both sides of barbed-wire fences, regarded by armies as potential adults and eventual threats. We live interdependently with a corrupted global network paralyzing all ability to react in a holy manner. I am not perfect. I am also not the invincible holy Son of God. This does not excuse me to do the wrong thing but offers a compelling explanation for the limits of doing the right thing. Because of the poisonous repercussions of the fall from Eden, all of one’s good moral behaviour is perverted to some extent. A work may still be good (as all good deeds arising from a Christian heart—as saint, not as sinner—are labelled fruits of God’s Holy Spirit), but my motives are never entirely pure. The Old Adam remains within me until death. My deeds are not the problem; I am. I can give a magnanimous contribution to a charity, and it will likely do much good objectively. Yet some of my motivations are selfish. My generous donation may make me feel good, may demonstrate my importance at making a global difference, may assuage guilt, might provide proof that I am better than someone else, etc. Lex semper accusat: the Law always accuses us of our sin, exposing our inadequacy even with regards to our best attempts at fulfilling a divine rule. Evil stems from the corrupt heart. Where does that leave us? We are left with a great hope: naked and eager receptors of the Good News. The Gospel forgives our sins, exonerates our wrongs, and covers our unrighteousness with the merits of Christ. The Law has been fulfilled by Him, but credited to us. Some call this “imputed righteousness.” Man is pure, not because of what he has done, but because of what has been done unto him. It terrifies all the hordes of hell, who may laugh at man’s efforts to behave purely but now lay vanquished before the works of Jesus Christ.
Distracting man from this wonderful and life-altering Gospel announcement is an archetypal strategy for Satan. Demonic confusion penetrates our belief system when we think that our forgiveness is conditional on our works of the Law. It annuls a justification by grace through faith, which is the foundational doctrine to Christ’s holy Church. Nothing pleases the devil more than believers convinced that they are saved by their works and not by grace alone. Eastern Christians disapprove of a Lutheran hermeneutic that dichotomizes faith and works, and even accuse it of subsiding incongruously with church history and the New Testament. Although Lutherans believe that salvation is by faith alone, they do not believe that it is by a faith that is alone. Yet, the theological distinction must be maintained. Otherwise, a treacherous merging of the quintessential doctrine of justification with sanctification occurs, partially pinning the assurance of the believer’s saintly status in his or her own holiness as opposed to Christ’s. Jesus Christ has clothed Himself with our sins, while we have dressed ourselves with His mantle of righteousness. The devil schemes to “cross-dress” these gowns. Some Eastern Orthodox who find the Lutheran fixation on the Second Person of the Holy Trinity to be slightly unbalanced, also discover St. Paul to be too “judicious” in his perception of the atonement. Nevertheless, the dialogue of life is permeated with dichotomies. The tension and friction intrinsic to our daily experiences of sin and grace, justice and mercy, and Law and Gospel are the uneven cobble stones beneath the war-torn feet of the human venture, a yin-yang that shapes our individual paths. There are multifarious ways to articulate the dichotomous relationship within the paradox while still remaining faithful to the dialectic. But when the two notions are twisted apart, mixed together or interchanged, the devil has achieved his ultimate goal.
Yet demonic confusion is not limited to individual human experience. Martin Luther observed the same kinds of confusions in the socio-political spheres, between the Two Kingdoms—God’s rule on earth through both the instruments of the Church and those of the government. For example, the religious crusades were guilty of the same demonic error as the Social Gospel is today. They were attempts at turning temporal realities into eternal realities, or eternalizing temporal ones. Constantine’s objective of erecting the first “Christian state” resembled the same thinking patterns of his contemporary pagans, despite his good intentions. All theocracies seek to materialize heavenly realities on earth. Although some of the crusades were politically motivated and even justifiable considering the threat of Islamic expansion, others were clearly driven by a view of spiritual conquest. Conquering the Holy Land embodied a physical victory over the spiritual dark forces. Still today, the Vatican is not just a church, but a state. The issue lies deeper than a cynical mixing of politics and religion, but exemplifies how easily the tools that belong to one realm can be mistakenly applied for use in the other. Years later, emerging from his exile at the Wartburg castle, Martin Luther was horrified to discover that his colleague Andreas Bodenstein von Karlstadt, in an effort to crush what he believed to be the worship of idols, had begun a rampage breaking all religious images, stained glass and statues of the saints. Luther rebuked him not only for demonically confusing the realms of inward cleanliness through such abominable outward behaviour, but also blamed him for the evil results: the unleashing of the Peasants’ Revolt of 1524, an anarchistic and bombastic crusade against all authorities, both secular and religious, as a means for the lower classes to ‘upgrade’ their stations in life.
Political theorist Michael Waltzer addresses this phenomenon in his book Spheres of Justice: A Defense of Pluralism and Equality, arguing that the use of the instruments of one sphere in the other is the source of all acts of injustice. For example, during the inquisition, the physical sword was enlisted to drive out heresies even though doctrinal disputes ought to have been fought with the spiritual sword of the Word of God. The inquisition was well-intentioned: torturing and murdering the body in order to mitigate the more severe pains of purgatory. The confused use of physical methods to influence the spiritual realm is rooted in a skewed (i.e. demonic) anthropology with regards to the relationship between body and soul. Neo-Gnostic heresy—that one’s bodily health reflects the status of one’s soul20—yields many disciples and assumes various ill-boding epiphanies today. Although democracy should not determine church doctrine and practice, the importation of democratic principles from the kingdom of the Left to the Right21 offers endless examples. Similarly, religious rhetoric does not cease to impregnate the kingdom of the Left. Democracy preaches that everyone is equal. Import this truism to the kingdom of the Right and everyone becomes a minister. Notwithstanding a