We must take our definition from the etymology of the word. When men grasp the conception of things with the mind and the understanding they are said “to know,” from which the word “knowledge” is derived. In like manner, when men have an awareness of divine judgment adjoined to them as a witness which does not let them hide their sins but arraigns them as guilty before the judgment seat – this awareness is called “conscience.” It is a certain mean between God and man, for it does not allow man to suppress within himself what he knows, but pursues him to the point of making him acknowledge his guilt. This is what Paul means when he teaches that conscience testifies to men, while their thoughts accuse or excuse them in God’s judgment (Rom. 2:15-16). A simple awareness could repose in man, bottled up, as it were. Therefore, this feeling, which draws men to God’s judgment, is like a keeper assigned to man, that watches and observes all his secrets so that nothing may remain buried in darkness. Hence that ancient proverb: conscience is a thousand witnesses. By like reasoning, Peter also put “the response of a good conscience to God” (1 Peter 3:21) as equivalent to peace of mind, when, convinced of Christ’s grace, we fearlessly present ourselves before God. And when the author of of The Letter to the Hebrews states that we “no longer have any consciousness of sin” (Heb. 10:2), he means that we are freed or absolved so that sin can no longer accuse us.

Therefore, just as works concern men, so the conscience relates to God in such a way that a good conscience is nothing but an inward uprightness of heart. In this sense, Paul writes that “the fulfillment of the law is love, out of a pure . . . conscience and faith unfeigned” (1 Tim. 1:5 p.). Afterward, in the same chapter, he shows how much it differs from understanding, saying that certain ones “made shipwreck of faith” because they had “forsaken a good conscience (1 Tim. 1:19). For by these words he indicates that is a lively longing to worship God and a sincere intent to live a godly and holy life. (Institutes, IV. x. 3-4.)

A couple of points are worth noting. One is the importance (there goes that squishy word) of justification to a clean conscience. Since justification is precisely a verdict of not guilty, that benefit alone can give the wounded and grieved conscience what it so desperately needs. I am not saying the doctrine does this logocentrically – as if propositions have consequences – or that this happens apart from the work of the Spirit. I am saying that a guilty conscience is important for all people because of the reality and pressing demands of the law. To have that burden lifted because of the perfect righteousness of Christ imputed to us by faith alone is an amazingly liberating moment and life.

The second point is how much Calvin sees love and holy living springing from this forensic reality of a clear conscience. Conscience goes far down in all of us thanks to being created in the image of God. So to change that legal torments that goes to the core of our being as sinners may also involve something truly renovative. At least, it is responsible to say that the significance of conscience in the life of every person means that justification can in no way be merely a book keeping matter, as if our account is credited with Christ’s righteousness way over there but then we need to have a moral transformation way deep down over here inside us for salvation to play out. Justification solves the guilty conscience problem. It’s a remedy for what is basic and deep down in each human being.

CANON XI.-If any one saith, that men are justified, either by the sole imputation of the justice of Christ, or by the sole remission of sins, to the exclusion of the grace and the charity which is poured forth in their hearts by the Holy Ghost, and is inherent in them; or even that the grace, whereby we are justified, is only the favour of God; let him be anathema.

CANON XII.-If any one saith, that justifying faith is nothing else but confidence in the divine mercy which remits sins for Christ’s sake; or, that this confidence alone is that whereby we are justified; let him be anathema.

CANON XIII.-If any one saith, that it is necessary for every one, for the obtaining the remission of sins, that he believe for certain, and without any wavering arising from his own infirmity and disposition, that his sins are forgiven him; let him be anathema.

CANON XIV.-If any one saith, that man is truly absolved from his sins and justified, because that he assuredly believed himself absolved and justified; or, that no one is truly justified but he who believes himself justified; and that, by this faith alone, absolution and justification are effected; let him be anathema. . . .

CANON XXX.-If any one saith, that, after the grace of Justification has been received, to every penitent sinner the guilt is remitted, and the debt of eternal punishment is blotted out in such wise, that there remains not any debt of temporal punishment to be discharged either in this world, or in the next in Purgatory, before the entrance to the kingdom of heaven can be opened (to him); let him be anathema. (Council of Trent, Decree on Justification)

First, say I am a political theorist who greatly admires the Federalist Papers (which I am not) and the arguments found there about the need for a Constitution that specifies the branches of a new federal government and their powers. If someone came along and said that federalism was the most wicked political notion ever known to man because it violated the divinely ordained rule of monarchs, would I not object because of my federalist convictions? In other words, would it matter to my federalist convictions that the attacker of federalism did not name John Jay, Alexander Hamilton, or James Madison explicitly? Wouldn’t I understand an attack on federalism to include those figures most identified with developing federalist thought (at least in the United States)?

Second, say I am a huge fan of the Coen Brothers’ movies (which I am) and someone comes along and tells me that the Coen brother’s are some of the least gifted and most adolescent of indie American directors who dabble merely in fashionable postmodernism, would I not feel my aesthetic toes trod upon even if this critic of the Coens did not mention their two best movies by name, “Miller’s Crossing” and “Hudsucker Proxy”? I mean, is a general put-down of the Coen brothers easier to take simply because it is general and lacks specifics? Or is the general rejection more sweeping because it lacks specifics that might provide wiggle room for hurt feelings?

The point here is that a criticism of a general category would certainly seem to involve the specific embodiments (whether in persons or texts or artifacts) of that larger truth or expression. Again, if I say Russians are a beastly lot, would not admirers of Alexander Solzhenitsyn naturally think I had him in view until I explained that I had in mind rather the kind of Russians one associates with Stalin? Or if someone attacked the regulative principle of worship without mentioning T. David Gordon or W. Robert Godfrey, would it not be fair to think that the criticism of the building block of Reformed worship applied not simply to the idea but also to those who maintain and defend the idea?

Why is it, then, if someone criticizes the spirituality of the church or the two-kingdoms doctrine that this criticism is somehow in good taste as long as it does not mention specific proponents of these ideas? The critic of two-kingdoms may not know the entire cast of characters who espouse this view – those such as Mike Horton, Scott Clark, David Van Drunen, and the bloggers at oldlife.org. And if the critic found out that these people held the spirituality of the church and wanted to change his criticism because he personally respected one or more of these men, he could conceivably do so by offering an explanation of his initial criticism. But short of such amendments or revisions, it seems eminently reasonable to conclude that those who argue for the two-kingdom perspective are included in any general critique of two-kingdom doctrine.

What then of a spirituality of the church advocate who only objects to criticism when one of the doctrine’s expounders, say Mike Horton, is criticized but feels no twinge about general complaints about the two-kingdom view when Scott Clark is holding it? It seems reasonably fair to conclude that such a reaction would be selective and personal.

Carl Trueman makes a similar point when he issues his Second Law, namely: “in any exchange of views, sooner or later one or more of the participants will describe themselves as hurt or in pain as a result of somebody else’s comment; and at that point it is clear that they have lost the real debate.” He explains this rule with the following hypothetical:

What, for example, should I do when I receive a note from someone who claims to be “hurt” by something I have written which she described as a “personal attack,” despite the fact that I have never heard of her and was completely unaware of her existence until she chose to contact me? Now, I am no philosopher, but it would seem to be logically necessary for me to know of the actual existence of somebody before I can launch a personal attack upon them. Thus, to respond as this person did would seem to point to one of two possible explanations: she was a narcissist and thus incapable of understanding that articles written by another could possibly not be aimed at her; or (and frankly, more likely), she was clueless about controversial discourse and unable to separate critique of a particular viewpoint from a malicious attack on any person who might hold to said viewpoint. Whichever was the case, however, the use of the language of hurt and pain as primary involved both a trivialization of those concepts in themselves and a sidestepping of the real issue, i.e., was the argument I proposed right or wrong?

It is a good point and one that many seminary administrators, theological faculty, and church officers should consider before concluding that the sort of criticism that traffics at this blog or in the Nicotine Theological Journal, let alone the pages of Ordained Servant or the Westminster Theological Journal, is beyond the pale of Christian charity or intellectual and doctrinal rigor.