Anyone who’s been around the Christian block knows of the long-standing debate between divine sovereignty and human freedom. Though there are varying degrees of conviction within each camp, the discussion is often framed as Calvinism vs. Arminianism: theological traditions associated with John Calvin and Jacobus Arminius. This article assumes readers have a basic knowledge of these two positions.
Having grown up in a Calvinist-flavored household and having received my degree in Biblical Studies from a Calvinist-leaning university, I accepted that position without much thought. But over time, aspects of strong determinism began to trouble me. I debated this point with several professors while I was in school, and none could give me a satisfactory explanation for how it worked or where the Bible claimed such a position. In those early stages of questioning, I was left with this thought:
If God wants none to perish, but for all to come to repentance (2 Pet 3:9), then why wouldn’t he predestine everyone to salvation?
Some responses I encountered appealed to divine foreknowledge: that God, knowing who would ultimately respond positively, ordains salvation accordingly. But this explanation left me unconvinced. If salvation ultimately rests on what a person would freely choose, then the decisive factor appears to lie in human response rather than in divine determination. And if that is the case, then we are no longer talking about strict determinism at all.
Some of you might be surprised (as I was) to learn that the pre-Augustinian tradition emphasized the freedom of the human will (stated by McGrath in Iustitia Dei) and not theological determinism. In fact, plenty of church fathers, like Justin Martyr, believed that foreordained human actions eliminate accountability.
I eventually started looking into Arminianism and saw points that seemed to hold weight: human freedom, resistible grace, and non-coercive salvation. However, what troubled me was how much power Arminians seemed to ascribe to human freedom, and how little emphasis was placed on God’s macro-level sovereignty over redemptive history.
Then I landed on Molinism, which resonated the most with me out of all the models. I believe God has knowledge of all counter-factuals, as demonstrated in 1 Samuel 23 where David leaves Keilah after God told him he would be captured by Saul if he remained.
My biggest hangup with Molinism, though, is the idea that God chooses to actualize the most ideal world out of all the options that he foresees, even if it is the world with the most salvific outcomes. I don’t mean to caricaturize the position, but it reminds me of Avengers: Infinity War when Dr. Strange uses the time stone to pick out the one path that will lead the Avengers to victory. Whatever “timeline” God chooses to actualize would inevitably include a host of tragedies and certain people rejecting salvation. This mean God becomes morally responsible for selecting a world where those people are lost when other possible worlds might have saved them.
Overall, though, I reject the extremes of exhaustive determinism and radical autonomy. We often assume that sovereignty must mean micromanagement, or that freedom must mean independence from God. However, that’s where I’d like to state my view and the thesis for this article:
God sovereignly authors the redemptive arc of history, securing its decisive checkpoints from creation to final restoration, yet within that providential framework He grants creatures genuine, bounded freedom. Divine foreknowledge guarantees the story’s continuity without scripting every choice, and grace universally opens the door to salvation without forcing anyone to walk through it.
Now that I’ve briefly walked you through my story, let me explain my position in more detail.
Sovereignty as Teleology, Not Micromanagement
Before going too much deeper, let me explain my mindset. As a reader and writer of fiction, I’m pretty familiar with the different modes of story creation and development. You have hardcore outliners (people who will detail the entire book before writing a single narrative sentence) and you have “pantsers” (people who discover the story as they write and allow their characters to dictate how the story should be).
Think of God as the author of creation and redemption, and humankind as the characters in his story. If we stretch the analogy, Calvinists would be outliners, believing that God has determined everything beforehand and as characters, we have no choice but to follow his script. Arminians would be pantsers, believing that God allows his characters (us) to broadly dictate the scope and direction of the story.
My view happens to be the way that I write: establishing non-negotiable narrative checkpoints with a loosely held framework on how the characters get there.
In other words, God guarantees the major redemptive events:
- Creation
- Choosing Israel
- Incarnation
- Cross
- Resurrection
- Church creation
- Final restoration
These are non-negotiable narrative anchors that unfold as a coherent arc from Genesis to Revelation. Sovereignty means that these events will happen (many have happened already), and that the ending cannot fail, while leaving room for the fact that not every mundane choice is scripted.
Some might call this a Tiered Sovereignty model, where there’s strong sovereignty at redemptive hinge points, prophetic fulfillment, preserving covenant history, and eschatological victory, but flexible providence in everyday life. However, since I’m not aware of anyone else who holds to my exact framework, I’m taking the liberty of calling it the Sovereign Narrative Worldview.
Bounded Freedom Within a Created World
The interplay between divine sovereignty and human freedom is one of the biggest tension points in any model. Determinists would argue that people are incapable of coming to God on their own – that they require God to irresistibly draw them to himself.
I agree with the concept, but not with the execution of this stance. Yes, we love God because he first loved us (1 John 4:19). But who does God love?
Everyone!
Scripture consistently affirms that God’s love is not limited to a predetermined subset of humanity. Therefore, if God loves everyone, everyone is capable of choosing to love God. An individual doesn’t need God to force a relationship onto them; they’re perfectly capable of choosing to accept or reject him themselves.
If God commands all to repent (Acts 17:30) and extends grace universally (Titus 2:11), then the capacity to respond must also be universal.
However, humans don’t possess absolute freedom. If you’re in a tunnel that branches into five pathways, you’re perfectly free to choose from among the five options. You aren’t free to choose an option that doesn’t exist, like digging through bedrock with your bare hands.
Freedom means choosing among real options, not inventing new ones. But within real options, we do genuinely choose.
Grace: Fully Given, Freely Received
Grace itself is not up for discussion; every model (from Calvinism to Arminianism to Molinism) affirms that “it is by grace you have been saved, through faith—and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God—not by works, so that no one can boast” (Eph 2:8-9).
What is up for debate is whether God’s grace, his gift of salvation, is resistible or irresistible.
A Calvinist would say that God’s grace is irresistible. Once God has regenerated a person’s heart, they will naturally choose to follow him; effectively, God changes their desires so they want Christ.
That’s all well and good, but it does bring up an unavoidable question: Why doesn’t God just regenerate everyone’s heart?
Especially when you look at verses like 2 Peter 3:9:
The Lord is not slow in keeping his promise, as some understand slowness. Instead he is patient with you, not wanting anyone to perish, but everyone to come to repentance.
Calvinists are aware of passages like this one and have various responses. Since this article isn’t meant to be a critique of Calvinism, suffice it to say that I find their arguments to be insufficient and centered around textual inferences instead of any hard Scripture.
Instead, my model leans heavily on Classical Arminianism for this point: grace is fully given and freely received.
Romans 5:18 says it nicely: “Consequently, just as one trespass resulted in condemnation for all people, so also one righteous act resulted in justification and life for all people.”
Paul is employing parallelism here. As a result of Adam’s sin, condemnation came for all people; likewise, through the righteousness of Christ, justification and life came for all people. Paul is not referring to universal salvation here, but rather universal atonement.
The Calvinist will say that “all” doesn’t actually mean every person. Instead, it means something like “all types of people” such as Gentiles, Jews, men, women, and ultimately, everyone who God elects. However, looking at Romans 5:18, it’s clear that condemnation literally came to all people—every single person (aside from Christ himself) has sinned and is under condemnation. Therefore, since literally “all people” are under condemnation, parallelism demands that literally “all people” have access to justification and life through Jesus.
It’s not just a special few that God extends mercy to; it’s everyone. Verse 19 goes on to say that through the obedience of one man (Jesus) the many will be made righteous. Paul limits the scope of who will realistically become saved in verse 19 by saying “many” instead of “all,” but that doesn’t detract from his claim in verse 18. One act of righteousness resulted in universal access to justification and life for all people.
God doesn’t approach each person and determine whether they’re going to be saved or not. God can sovereignly attain his overarching goals without dictating the eternal destination of every person. That is how he can desire all to be saved and come to repentance, without allowing humanity to take full control over the plot of the story.
I do want to take a moment to affirm God’s work in the salvific process, beyond merely extending grace to all people. John 6:44 says that “no one can come to Me (Jesus) unless the Father who sent Me draws him,” which implies additional action from God after grace is extended.
It is worth noting that “draws” has a much different connotation than “predestines.” Even if you translate it as “drag” (which is perfectly reasonable), it does not eliminate resistance. Matthew 23:37 says, “Jerusalem, Jerusalem, you who kill the prophets and stone those sent to you, how often I have longed to gather your children together, as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings, and you were not willing.” God longs for the story to progress in a certain direction, but he still allows people to resist his will.
Even with grace extended to all of us, it’s likely that none would come to Jesus without additional goading – whether we choose to accept or resist that goading is the differentiator between those who are saved and those who are not. The Spirit awakens, convicts, and invites, but does not coerce.
Why Conflict Exists
Scripture also hints that God intentionally created a world with unresolved potential. In Genesis 1:2, the earth is described as “formless and void,” with darkness over the deep. Rather than eliminating the chaos outright, God begins ordering it, eventually commissioning humanity to “fill the earth and subdue it.” The biblical story therefore begins not with a static world but with one that invites participation. Humanity is placed within a dynamic creation where their actions genuinely matter. This narrative structure reinforces the broader pattern seen throughout Scripture: God sovereignly directs the story toward its intended end, while allowing meaningful participation along the way.
Foreknowledge Without Fatalism
A central tenet within determinism says something to this effect: If God has foreknowledge over an event, that event must take place. It’s a view that claims all events are predetermined by God’s omniscience and omnipotence, and therefore, nothing can happen outside of his will. Many Calvinists and other Reformed Christians assert this tenet to argue for irresistible grace, but ironically, the Bible itself disproves the position very clearly.
Let’s take a look at 1 Samuel 23:7-13.
“Saul was told that David had gone to Keilah, and he said, ‘God has delivered him into my hands, for David has imprisoned himself by entering a town with gates and bars.’ And Saul called up all his forces for battle, to go down to Keilah to besiege David and his men.
When David learned that Saul was plotting against him, he said to Abiathar the priest, ‘Bring the ephod.’ David said, ‘Lord, God of Israel, your servant has heard definitely that Saul plans to come to Keilah and destroy the town on account of me. Will the citizens of Keilah surrender me to him? Will Saul come down, as your servant has heard? Lord, God of Israel, tell your servant.’
And the Lord said, ‘He will.’
Again David asked, ‘Will the citizens of Keilah surrender me and my men to Saul?’
And the Lord said, ‘They will.’
So David and his men, about six hundred in number, left Keilah and kept moving from place to place. When Saul was told that David had escaped from Keilah, he did not go there.”
This passage gives us a fascinating insight into God’s foreknowledge. On the one hand, we have David learning that Saul is coming for him after he’s liberated the people of Keilah from the Philistines. He then asks God a series of yes or no questions:
David: Will Saul come down, as your servant has heard?
God: He will.
David: Will the citizens of Keilah surrender me and my men to Saul?
God: They will.
David then makes use of that information to leave Keilah and keep out of Saul’s reach.
According to God’s foreknowledge, David and his men are to be handed over to Saul by the people of Keilah. Theological determinism would say that, since God foreknew the event, it must happen. And yet, that’s not what we see.
God saw David’s capture; David wisely used that information to avoid capture.
Since theological determinism is not universally true, it leads to implications surrounding God’s responsibility for the damnation of those who reject his grace. Just because God sees a future where someone rejects grace does not mean that he had a hand in that person’s rejection. We’ll get into that next.
Responsibility and Foreknowledge
There are some who would argue that, since God has foreknowledge of all events, he is somehow responsible for their actualization. The basis for this argument is the claim that, if God knows all possible future outcomes and sustains a future where evil exists despite that knowledge, he’s responsible for its existence.
It’s an interesting proposition, but I would submit that the logic backing it is weak. To demonstrate this, I’ll share a story from my childhood:
When I was young, my dad was cutting up some hot peppers. I’d never tasted anything like that before, so I begged him to give me a piece before it had been cooked or mixed with anything. He, understandably, resisted my request. However, when I continued to beg, he eventually gave in and handed me a small sliver of pepper. Upon eating it, you can imagine how I felt… Mouth on fire, tears and snot streaming down my face, and a great deal of regret over my choice.
Now, let me ask you a question: Is my dad responsible for my suffering?
He knew what would happen before he gave me the pepper; he knew that it would cause me pain. I was dependent on him, and it was well within his power to prevent my suffering. And yet, I was the one who insisted. I asked him for something I knew nothing about and pressed the issue even when he repeated that I wouldn’t like the outcome. The burden of responsibility is on the originating will.
Ultimately, you cannot say that foreknowledge equals responsibility, unless the one with foreknowledge is also the originating will. Calvinists will say this is true: God determines all of our choices, so the burden rests on him.
For many Christians, though, it’s uncomfortable to imagine God as the one responsible for evil. And unlike theological determinism, a narrative view of sovereignty preserves God’s holiness and humanity’s responsibility for their own sin, while ensuring God’s plans never fail.
The Golden Chain
Calvinists will be familiar with Romans 8:29-30, which is colloquially referred to as “the golden chain.” It’s one of the strongest biblical indications of determinism, with the passage going like this:
For those God foreknew he also predestined to be conformed to the image of his Son, that he might be the firstborn among many brothers and sisters. And those he predestined, he also called; those he called, he also justified; those he justified, he also glorified.
You can see the “chain” of events pretty clearly: God foreknew → God predestined → God called → God justified → God glorified.
Calvinists love this passage because they think it must refer to an unbreakable, effectual salvation decree. Since this “chain” is only referring to Christians, they’ll oftentimes swap out “foreknew” for “foreloved” to indicate that it’s not just God knowing something in advance. Rather, he’s actively pursuing a relationship with a select group of people that he predestines.
But this is where context becomes important.
Paul isn’t describing how people become believers; he’s describing the security of those who are. The entire context of Romans 8 is comfort (suffering, groaning, future glory, God working all things for good), so the chain functions as assurance. It’s not answering:
“Why does one person believe and another doesn’t?”
It is answering:
“Will God fail to bring his people home?”
In that sense, the chain is covenantal, not deterministic.
So, how does this fit within a narrative framework? I believe you can read “the golden chain” this way:
Foreknown → trajectory observed
Predestined → narrative role fixed
Called → historical invitation
Justified → response realized
Glorified → story completed
In other words, the chain describes what happens to those who respond in faith; it does not describe why they responded. And the why is really what any sovereignty model is seeking to answer.
Heart Hardening
Many Calvinists will then point to Romans 9, the chapter directly after the golden chain, as proof of determinism. And to be fair, it can look quite convincing. Much of the chapter revolves around God’s sovereignty, but verses 11-18 seem to heavily lean into determinism:
“Yet, before the twins were born or had done anything good or bad—in order that God’s purpose in election might stand: not by works but by him who calls—she was told, ‘The older will serve the younger.’ Just as it is written: ‘Jacob I loved, but Esau I hated.’
What then shall we say? Is God unjust? Not at all! For he says to Moses,
‘I will have mercy on whom I have mercy,
and I will have compassion on whom I have compassion.’
It does not, therefore, depend on human desire or effort, but on God’s mercy.
For Scripture says to Pharaoh: ‘I raised you up for this very purpose, that I might display my power in you and that my name might be proclaimed in all the earth.‘ Therefore God has mercy on whom he wants to have mercy, and he hardens whom he wants to harden.”
At first glance, this passage seems like a slam dunk in favor of determinism. However, I’d encourage you to read the whole passage, particularly verse 25, which says:
As he says in Hosea:
“I will call them ‘my people’ who are not my people;
and I will call her ‘my loved one’ who is not my loved one,”
This chapter is Paul’s argument for the Gentiles being grafted into God’s family through Christ. He lays out a detailed case for how this can be and concludes by explaining that the Gentiles obtained righteousness by faith, while the Jews were attempting to attain righteousness through works (vv. 30-32).
“Election,” therefore, is referring to a class of people: those saved through covenant with God. It is not addressing the process of how those individuals are saved, or whether or not God handpicks those who will be saved.
The same could be said of Pharaoh. God did not specifically create Pharaoh to be a doomed vessel of wrath; God noted the state of Pharaoh’s heart, the trajectory it was on, and affirmed it.
Just to clarify, I’m defining “trajectory” here as a moral direction a person forms through repeated choices over time, gradually shaping their character and making certain future decisions more likely than others. A person’s trajectory can be influenced by a variety of factors, including the Spirit’s conviction, moral formation, one’s environment, past experiences, and sin nature, among others.
Let’s take a look at Exodus 4:21, which is the first time God says he will harden Pharaoh’s heart:
Yahweh said to Moses, “When you go back to Egypt see that you perform before Pharaoh all the wonders which I have put in your power; but I will harden his heart so that he will not let the people go.”
The phrase “will harden” is ’ăḥazzêq in Hebrew. The root word, ḥazzêq, shows up in 267 verses in the Old Testament, but ironically, it’s only translated as “harden” when referring to someone’s heart. This can easily give someone the wrong impression on what’s being communicated. A better translation of ḥazzêq would be “strengthen” or “reinforce,” which immediately creates a different tone. One can only reinforce what’s already there – in Pharaoh’s case, God strengthened his existing stubbornness.
God did not make Pharaoh resistant to Moses’ demand; he simply locked in the trajectory that Pharaoh was already on. In fact, Pharaoh hardens himself multiple times before God’s hardening language becomes dominant (Exo 7:13, 22; 8:19).
Not all of God’s plans are fixed. Continuing with Romans 9, Paul refers to God as a potter, justified in creating whatever he wants from the clay, whether vessels for honorable or common use, or even those prepared for destruction. This is a nod to Jeremiah 18, where God says, “Like clay in the hand of the potter, so are you in my hand, Israel” (v. 6).
The next four verses go on to describe how God will change his plans for a nation depending on their actions: for those who repent, disaster is averted (v. 8), and for those who rebel, God reconsiders the good he had intended for it (v. 10).
God the Potter can reshape the clay at will, so who are you to decide what he can and cannot do? The shape isn’t fixed: it’s final form is just a representation of its trajectory.
A Living Story
In this model, creation and redemption are best understood not as a rigid mechanical system nor as an uncontrolled improvisation, but as a story authored by God.
Like any good story, it has a beginning, decisive turning points, and an ending that the author intends to reach. Scripture reveals several of these narrative anchors clearly: creation, the incarnation, the cross, the resurrection, and the final restoration of all things. These are not optional developments in the story. They are the structural pillars that give the biblical narrative its shape. God guarantees that these moments occur and that the story ultimately reaches the ending he intends.
Yet between those anchor points lies the lived experience of history. Within that space, human beings are not merely puppets reciting predetermined lines. We are participants whose choices genuinely matter. Our decisions shape our lives, affect others, and contribute to the unfolding drama of redemption.
This means sovereignty does not require micromanagement of every action. A skilled author does not need to dictate every step a character takes in order to guide the story toward its intended conclusion. Instead, the author establishes the world, the goals of the narrative, and the decisive events that must occur. The characters then act within that framework, making meaningful decisions that contribute to the direction of the story.
To lay it out cleanly, the Sovereign Narrative Worldview holds that:
- God authors the redemptive story.
- Certain redemptive events are guaranteed.
- Human beings possess bounded freedom.
- Grace invites but does not coerce.
- God incorporates human decisions into the story.
- The final restoration is certain.
The biblical story reflects this pattern repeatedly. God calls people, warns them, invites them, and sometimes judges them. Individuals respond in different ways: some accept, some resist, and some harden themselves over time. Those repeated choices form moral trajectories that shape the course of their lives. In certain moments, especially when the broader redemptive story is at stake, God may reinforce or confirm those trajectories, incorporating them into the larger narrative he is weaving through history.
None of this undermines God’s sovereignty. In fact, it highlights it. A sovereign author does not need to control every detail in order to ensure the story reaches its intended end. God’s foreknowledge guarantees the continuity of the narrative, while human freedom provides the real moral texture within it.
This perspective also preserves several truths that Scripture consistently affirms: God genuinely desires people to repent, grace is extended to all, and individuals are responsible for how they respond to that grace. Evil actions remain the responsibility of those who commit them, even when God ultimately weaves those actions into a greater redemptive purpose.
In this way, the story of Scripture is neither fatalistic nor chaotic. It is purposeful. God has written a story that cannot ultimately fail, yet he allows his creatures to participate in it in ways that are meaningful and consequential.
Human beings are not simply actors forced to read lines from a predetermined script. Nor are we independent authors writing a story apart from God. Instead, we are characters within a divine narrative, free to make real choices, yet living within a world whose ultimate direction is guided by its Author.
The ending of the story is certain: creation restored, evil defeated, and God dwelling with his people. How each individual participates in that story, however, remains a matter of response. God opens the door through grace, calls people toward himself, and patiently invites them to enter.
The story is still unfolding.
And every person must decide how they will respond to the Author who wrote it.
