Our Immutable God and Why It Matters

J.E. Rose

But the LORD said to Samuel, “Do not look at his appearance or at the height of his stature, because I have rejected him; for God does not see as man sees, since man looks at the outward appearance, but the LORD looks at the heart.” (1 Samuel 167)

What can we know about God? What can we say about Him? Well, obviously there are many things, but maybe the better question is, what can we know and say for sure? I want to focus on one particular matter of theological knowledge related to a specific doctrine that has become hotly debated and contested in my world these days: it’s called the doctrine of divine simplicity. I am not going to explain much about the history of the doctrine other than to quote the confessional standard to which I am morally bound: 

Westminster Confession of Faith 2.1, that “There is but one only, living, and true God, who is infinite in being and perfection, a most pure spirit, invisible, without body, parts, or passions . . .” 

Unless you’ve read much reformed theology the significance and necessity of this statement is probably lost on you. The first part of the statement is fairly obvious–namely, one only living and true God, infinite in being and perfection…” We can all say, Amen. But then they went and said, “without body parts or passions.” Huh? And to take it to the next level, how did that affirmation turn into an entire doctrine of “divine simplicity” and why was it so important that today theological battles are fought about it? 

Briefly, I want to explain that “without body parts” is but one concrete expression of the larger doctrine. Even a superficial reading of the Old Testament shows us that though God can appear with a body to men like Abraham, He was not limited to a body or to bodily parts like the other gods of the ancient world. The next phrase, “without passions,” is a bit more difficult without some kind of historical and philosophical context to make sense of it. Especially in ancient and medieval philosophy, passions were not just emotions but “movements” and “stirrings” within one’s very being. Think of this older definition in the context of “passive” vs. “active” response. If God had passions (in this definition), He would be passively reacting to events of His creatures and in many ways would then be subject to them. Again, I can’t take a lot of time to detail all that other than to suggest the implication of the opposite: if God has parts and passions, that means He is not the “same yesterday, today, and forever.” It means God can change in His being and ultimately can deny Himself. These are very big risks! Divine simplicity says, “No. God does not change. He is ever faithful and ever the same. He doesn’t have bodily parts, but neither do His passions (emotions?) fluctuate based on either His own moods or upon the external events of the world He made.

So, that’s an all too brief summary. But I want to address one of the biblical challenges of a high subscription to divine simplicity, relative to our language about God. For, clearly and honestly, I could spend all day quoting passages of Scripture that seem to disprove this very doctrine. 

I remember my first significant exposure to this issue was decades ago and the “new” teaching about God called “open theism.” One of my favorite professors in my graduate program at Calvin College was Nicholas Wolterstorff. His son Eric and I were in the same high school graduating class together in Grand Rapids, and even though we didn’t hang out in the same group, I did know who he was. Anyway, long story short, Eric was killed in a tragic mountain climbing incident, and his dad wrote an agonizing reflection on his own grief called Lament for a Son. I am only mentioning it for my own context here, not analyzing it, other than to say that in this painful book my professor laid out a case for open theism as a “justification” for the death of his son. God couldn’t possibly have planned it. God must not have “known” or at least somehow not connected his knowledge to his sovereign control. This is what open theism suggests. 

As a philosopher, Wolterstorff knew very well the profound theological and exegetical issues at stake. He admitted that if we pull too hard on the “thread” of God’s immutability, we must beware that other theological threads will begin to unravel as well—even what it means that God is eternal. 

 In the midst of his own grief, it isn’t difficult to see what drove him to this view. But it underscores the historical challenge of divine simplicity and theological language itself. To return to my opening questions: what can we know for sure about God, and what can we say with certainty about Him? If passages of Scripture quote God Himself as saying to Abraham, “Now I know that you will not withhold your only son” (Genesis 22:12), does that mean that God did not know it before this? If that is the case, then the open theists have a case. But if it doesn’t mean that, why did God say it? And if it doesn’t mean God doesn’t know the future, what does God know? At stake in our doctrine of divine simplicity is not just who God is in Himself but also what we can know with assurance about Him. Do you see why it is such an important issue? 

Historically, there are three ways theological language can be used: equivocal, univocal and analogical. These words help us understand the options for our theological language. 

Equivocal:  

When the Bible says that God “knows” something that knowledge is totally unlike our knowledge because God is infinite and we are finite. In the diagram of the circles, notice the “unequal” sign in the overlap. The overlap is where language between God and man exists. 

Univocal:

Univocal is the opposite. That’s why the equal sign. In this case, when the Bible says that God knows something the word “know” means exactly the same thing in us and him. 

Analogical: 

Historically, we usually look back to Thomas Aquinas to define analogical language about God. There are ways it is “equal” but also ways it is not. And, if i can be a theological nerd for a moment, reformed theologians (in the Vosian tradition) reject the thomistic definition of analogical language relative to its origin. Vosians say that any and all analogical language is of necessity “special revelation” not the product of natural reason or some kind of “overlap” (mutualism) between creator and creature. 

But I digress… On second thought, maybe this is not a digression but essential to my point! I’ll come back to that in a moment. 

So, let me state my premise that all theological language is analogical. When God says to Abraham, “now I know…” it both means and does not mean what we naturally think. Again, the traditional term for this is “anthropomorphic” language: ascribing “human form” to God so that we can know something–albeit not everything–about God. 

As you might imagine, within the historical context of reformed, confessional views on divine simplicity, “the devil is in the details.”  I mean, even for those who reject open theism, subscribing to a traditional understanding of simplicity and sovereignty, there are very different understandings of analogical language itself, particularly related to God’s being. Two theologians that I'm especially familiar with from my Westminster tradition are James Dolezal and John Frame. 

Dolezal’s recent book about simplicity is called All That Is in God. It’s a scholarly work, and I’m not going to review the entire book here other than to suggest that Dolezal is staking out a view of simplicity that purports to be both the most biblical and the most theologically confessional. In the process, he is not afraid to call out other confessional theologians who have been more nuanced in their presentation, especially when it comes to “God without parts and passions.” 

Dolezal insists that any theologian, reformed or otherwise, who budges even an iota from his staked position is a “theological mutualist” and has wittingly or not, opened the door to open theism. And to my point, he says that about John Frame also. Since Frame is my theological mentor, that charge has caused me much turmoil. This article is my attempt to sort it out. 

Specifically, John Frame affirms his subscription to the confessional statement on simplicity. However, he insists we must never undermine God’s “real” personal interactions with his creatures such as in prayer. 

Frame affirms a "mutual" or "give-and-take" dynamic between God and creatures (e.g., God responding to prayer or human actions in Scripture), but insists this is entirely unilateral: God sovereignly decrees all creaturely input as part of His eternal plan. Creatures do not "move" or cause change in God independently; rather, God accommodates Himself to creation in a way that He has eternally willed. This preserves absolute divine independence, avoiding the dependency Dolezal attributes to mutualists. Frame writes that such interactions are "not a limitation on God, but an expression of His lordship," emphasizing God's control over every aspect of the relation.

I recall reading J.I. Packer years ago on another challenging doctrine: divine impassibility, which focuses basically on God’s feelings–whether he can “actually” be moved to feel a certain way because of things we do. The hardliners like Dolezal want to say that impassability is all anthropomorphic and not (in Frame’s sense) “real.” Packer said that also, concluding that God’s emotions and thoughts do in some ways respond to the creature, however, even that is in God’s preexisting sovereign decree so that he decrees his own emotional interaction. I recall reading that for the first time and being deeply satisfied (FWIW) with that view. I think Frame does something similar with simplicity. The mutual give and take is real but always initiated by God himself in his eternal and sovereign will. 

But I want to move forward to the point about language. 

I quoted 1 Samuel

But the LORD said to Samuel, “Do not look at his appearance or at the height of his stature, because I have rejected him; for God does not see as man sees, since man looks at the outward appearance, but the LORD looks at the heart.” (1 Samuel 16:7)

Ironically, I was listening to another hardline simplicist named Jamie Duigid, who used this passage to substantiate the Old Testament basis for divine simplicity. His argument was basic anthropomorphism of God’s being: what appears to us as “parts and passions” is all just appearance required because of what God said to Samuel: you only see part of the reality (outward appearance), whereas I see the heart. By extension, this is because of the creator/creature distinction, not only of being but language.

Duigid’s specific point was that God was correcting Samuel’s false notion that he was able to see the whole truth about Saul. In the process, it was an indication that Samuel had false notions about God also: that God also focused on the outward appearance. In terms of simplicity, what we might perceive as parts and passions in God is only because of our finite perspectives. 

Ironically, Frame uses exactly this same passage to make his case for the “give and take” in a relationship between God and man. At best, we can only see (and describe) the appearances because of our limited perspective. God alone sees the whole. But, as Frame says, this “analogical” characteristic of knowledge and language does NOT mean equivocality. There is a sense, limited though it may be, in which we know what God knows and see what God sees. Frame doubles down against Dolezal’s view as overly reliant on medieval categories (aka Thomas) that marginalize evangelical, Bible-centered approaches. 

Frame stakes out his own territory called "biblical personalism" or "multiperspectivalism," where God's attributes (including simplicity) are viewed through multiple biblical lenses (normative, situational, existential) without collapsing into Thomistic identity. For instance, on simplicity, Frame accepts a qualified version where attributes are "perspectives on God's simple being" but not numerically identical in a way that erases distinctions—yet he insists this does not introduce composition or dependency. Labeling him a mutualist, Frame implies, caricatures his exegesis-driven method and ignores his consistent affirmation of God's lordship.

In other words, for Frame, all language about God is analogical by virtue of the fact that we are finite and God is infinite, therefore, the best hope we have to make sense of things like God’s foreknowledge or sovereign control is through multiperspectivalism where we humbly admit we only see in part not the whole. 

Now, let me take a jab at Dolezal’s methodology before I finish, related to Frame’s charge that Dolezal was too enamored with medieval scholasticism. In what way could that be so? I think Frame’s point is correct that Dolezal and his ilk are so determined to protect their own theological language (such as parts and passions language) that they will sacrifice actual biblical language. As good Vosians, they should prioritize any theological language that is granted by special revelation over natural reason. 

So what? We should always ask ourselves why this kind of theological minutiae (if it is) matters in our lives. It may seem like too much theological hairsplitting, but I strongly disagree. God’s immutability is the very foundation of His being and “Godness.” No wonder my favorite gospel song, Great is Thy Faithfulness, begins, “There is no shadow of turning with Thee; Thou changest not, Thy compassions they fail not; as Thou hast been Thou forever wilt be…”

It is no coincidence that the biblical context of this song is Lamentations 3 and Jeremiah’s own hymn of praise in the midst of his and Israel’s “lament” of captivity. All of Jeremiah’s words are implicitly and explicitly rooted in covenant language and covenant realities. This link between God’s immutability and His covenants is profound. Without an unflinching (albeit biblically accurate) foundation of divine simplicity, the entire theology of covenant falls apart. When you last sang "Great is Thy Faithfulness" in church, did you take time to recall the covenantal assumption: “faithfulness to what?” 

The theological answer is, “faithful to his eternal promises.” And it is in that assurance God gives us our greatest source of strength and comfort. I recently listened to another theologian (Kevin DeYoung) describe divine immutability as the perfect solution for all our human misery. The very void in our souls that creates the misery is our own mutability. We are not the same yesterday, today and forever! My “passions” are very changing and like “shadows of turning” so that as a passive creature I am more often than not a prisoner to them. But God is without parts and passions.