How Amillennialism Just Might Convince You of Postmillennialism

Eschatology is a fascinating business, and maybe particularly so for those eschatologies that are generally more covenantal in their approach. Within these covenantal eschatologies, there is an intriguing intersection of the closely-related perspectives of amillennialism and postmillennialism. It may be less of an intersection, and more of a general agreement about the overall structure of eschatology—in any case, these two approaches share quite a great deal in common. In fact, to the casual observer, the differences between these views may be quite hard to discern at times without further scrutiny. But the study of eschatology is certainly something far more than just a passing fascination with views or a pastime for the theologically-minded. In fact, there are truly few topics that can generate such enduring warmth and vibrant hope than the consummative triumph of Christ and conquest of His kingdom that is found in eschatology. Eschatology is most certainly a hopeful thing to study.

However, as the title of this rather short treatise should indicate, what follows here is not meant to unify, but to divide! This is a bit tongue-in-cheek obviously, but what follows is certainly an effort at clarity. Pursuant to our ongoing efforts here at Eschatology Matters, I have fielded more than a few questions regarding my own eschatological convictions, which is admittedly unsurprising (and probably to be expected) for a contributor to an eschatology channel. Yet my answers to those queries have often appeared a bit vague (no doubt frustratingly so for some), as I have frequently appealed to a broadly “optimistic” eschatology. Please consider this present piece to be a candid bit of explanation—an explanation offered with the hope of encouraging unity, yet one seeking to provide a bit of doctrinal clarity. This is where the quip about division comes in—though our efforts are irenic, we may observe that doctrine tends to divide, and clarity tends to bring conflict. With that being said, it is my hope to avoid the usual discord that is found within eschatology, a study that is often plagued by divisions, sharp rhetoric, and complicated words and charts. What follows may hopefully serve as an effort at irenic clarity.

The Tricky Business of Theological Camps

When I first entered into my studies in seminary, I immediately became aware of the many variegated theological “camps” that existed, as well as how many first-year seminarians proudly flocked to such camps. This dynamic is certainly not found only within seminaries, but it is there, nonetheless. Some students proudly wore the broad title of “Protestant,” while others championed the “Reformed” or “Calvinist” surnames as their preferred subgroup. There also never seems to be a shortage of such camps—presuppositionalists and evidentialists, infralapsarians and supralapsarians, traducians and infusionists, and the divisions could go on and on. While this may seem a bit odd to some observers, there are many reasons to affirm the use of such terminology—if someone simply claims they are a Christian who believes in the Bible, we may well have to endure quite a lengthy conversation to ascertain exactly what they mean by such a statement. If, however, they were to share that they are a Presbyterian who is fond of the apologetic approach of Van Til, it gives a succinct summary of their theological position within the rather spacious realm of Christian thought (ostensibly, at least).

But at a certain point, one may well begin to question the helpfulness of such divisions and camps. One may wonder if such descriptions communicate well, or if they simply egg-the-pudding a bit. For example, if someone asks if you are a “Calvinist,” a common (and wise) response may be to ask “well, what do you mean by Calvinist?” The reason for such an answer is not to be intentionally vague or exasperating, but rather to define terms before attaching oneself to one. After all, such terms often carry quite different meanings for different people, and words really do matter. Claiming to be a whatever-ist is often just as helpful as claiming the title “political conservative” (which is to say, not very much at all). The terms are helpful precisely so far as they go (and they are likely unavoidable), but they are most certainly not without potential risks and should be handled with care.

This dynamic of terminology certainly holds true in the study of eschatology. Are you pre-trib, mid-trib, or post-trib? Are you amil, postmil, or premil? Are you preterist, futurist, historicist, or idealist? Are you dispensational or covenantal? These are all helpful categories, but only insofar as the category furthers understanding. In other words, claiming to be amillennial is helpful, but only insofar as that communicates something understandable to those seeking to understand your theology. When the term brings more confusion than clarity, it has ceased to be a helpful tool. Further, if one has to spend a great deal of time debating the definitions and parameters of these theological camps with others, it may be worthwhile to question the helpfulness of such terminology in the first place.

By way of background, in one of our earlier interviews on Eschatology Matters, we spoke with Dr. Keith Mathison who offered a proposition that many of us found quite fascinating (even inspiring). Mathison (who wrote a seminal book on postmillennialism, here) suggested that the terms postmil and amil are limited in their current usage because they imply a necessary division in thought, whereas his hope was that the Church was seeing the beginnings of a “Nicaea moment” in the realm of eschatology. In other words, the continued use of terms like postmil and amil implies an inherent disagreement, while we might be striving for greater unity and clarity amidst those views that truly hold so much in common. There have been great strides made in eschatological clarity in recent generations, and the areas of solidarity are truly quite compelling. His contention was-and-is fascinating, and I truly hope that this may prove to be the case in the coming generations as we seek for greater eschatological accord.

Yet in the meantime, there seem to remain some unavoidable dividing lines between these eschatological approaches, and it is not unfair to ask someone where they stand on these issues. Further, such clarity does not typically emerge without overt specificity (e.g., using some of those aforementioned labels). It is quite possible for someone to cook up a generous helping of pasta, smother it with a generous portion of red sauce, and then garnish it with mushrooms and shredded parmesan—yet until you pronounce that the dish is, in fact, spaghetti, some may ask what exactly it is that you are serving up for dinner. Again, this is not necessarily an unreasonable request—there are lots of pasta dishes going around these days, after all. Clarity is always welcome, and there are also certainly many chefs that are taking quite a bit of creative freedom with the ingredients of some popular recipes.

Healthy Suspicion of Theological Trends

I think that adopting a healthy suspicion of theological trends is often a good and proper impulse for Christians. If not a healthy suspicion, perhaps it is proper to at least have a cautious wariness of things that seem to be trending. Fashion trends come and go quite quickly, and the same is often true in theology (though doctrinal changes are quite a bit more impactful than changing the cut of one’s jeans). For quite a while, it became quite popular to claim the label of “Calvinist,” and many newly-minted Calvinists subsequently adorned themselves with t-shirts proudly emblazoned with the likeness of John Calvin or Jonathan Edwards. Unfortunately, it also became clear that many in that movement (mostly the ones wearing the t-shirts) had never actually read Calvin or Edwards, producing a situation that led to a bit of cognitive dissonance, to say the least. As I once heard a good friend observe: “everyone wants to be reformed until it’s time to do some reformed stuff”—I think that assessment is quite erudite. The fact that something is trendy does not make it wrong, but trendiness itself is a tricky business.

In recent years, there has been a popular level resurgence in postmillennial thought. An eschatology that many seminary professors once glibly dismissed (with a postmortem dated to around the First World War) became a popular, even trendy, identification to hold. As with many trends, this resurgence in postmillennial thought saw a coinciding rise in such things as postmil hashtags trending, and postmil memes widely circulating the internet. Here, we may recognize the health of a degree of caution—after all, most of us have seen Christian trends come and go (remember those WWJD bracelets?), and it is probably good not to let oneself get caught up in something trendy wherein many have likely not done the required reading. This is a fair degree of caution.

However (and this is quite a big caveat), this response should be one of caution, not one of outright rejection. In other words, recognizing that a theological movement has some trendy affiliations does not necessarily invalidate the movement or theology itself, though it may warrant a moment of pause when evaluating such things. After all, even if some young-restless-and-reformed Calvinists had apparently not done their required reading, that did not mean that John Calvin must be thrown by the wayside as well. In the same way, a popular-level resurgence in postmillennial thought should in no way ignore the worthy contributions of men like John Owen, Jonathan Edwards, or Charles Hodge, who labored in this field long before trendy t-shirts were available.

Hopefully, all this may help to explain why many of us are quite hesitant with labels. Is it enough to say that I feel a strong familiarity with the eschatology of BB Warfield? That Marcellus Kik has written things that I would have been delighted to have flowed from my own pen? That I still find much to appreciate and learn from Geerhardus Vos, and that the cosmic application of Abraham Kuyper has significantly helped shape my eschatological worldview? It certainly gives a helpful explanation of the dish I am preparing, but the menu is still in want of a summative description.

Drawing Some Lines

There is an unavoidable distinction which must be noted between amillennialism and postmillennialism, at least in their present expressions. There was a time when this line was not as clear, a day when these two approaches were simply regarded as different expressions of a broadly postmillennial thought. There also may be a future day where this line again recedes into the background, and there is a greater sense of unity in covenantal eschatology. What makes drawing this distinction so difficult for so many is that these two eschatological systems seem so similar: both recognize the millennium occurring between Christ’s first and final comings, both recognize that Christ has bound Satan through His earthly ministry and coming of His kingdom, and both look for the final coming of Christ to usher in the eternal state in all its finality (though perhaps with a few caveats and qualifications on any of these points).

Now, these above distinctions are certainly enough to separate amil/postmil from the ubiquitous premillennialism that is the current majority opinion in most Evangelical circles. Further, many of us were taught in seminary that postmillennialism most assuredly died away as a valid eschatological approach, whether due to the horrors of the World Wars or due to social projects of liberal Protestantism. For many, the only biblically viable options seemed to be dispensational premillennialism or amillennialism (historic premillennialism and postmillennialism being regarded as some historical oddities that had faded into the sunset). Which is to say, amillennialism seemed to be the de facto choice for the more covenantally-minded eschatology in recent years.

But there is an important distinction that separates amillennialism and postmillennialism in their contemporary iterations, and that definitional distinction concerns the kingdom of God. Both approaches affirm that the kingdom of God is present, and that it is even in our midst—there is much to agree on here. Yet what sort of kingdom is this? Contemporary amillennialism confesses that this kingdom is an otherworldly, heavenly, unseen, and spiritual kingdom. (I will resist including caveats and qualifications at this point, and instead recognize that these are broad brush strokes that will not account for every permutation) The kingdom is primarily, if not distinctly, a heavenly affair. It should be noted that few amillennials would dispute that such a kingdom will still have some sort of influence that is expressed in this world, yet the kingdom itself is one of heaven above and does not truly take hold in this world until the time that Christ returns. As should be clear, this definition of the kingdom has some far-reaching implications.

Here, the difference of postmillennialism from amillennialism becomes quite a bit more noticeable, as the postmillennial position is quite different in its assessment of the kingdom. Postmillennials assert that the kingdom is both a heavenly and an earthly reality, one that is both seen and unseen, one that is born from heaven yet is expanding in this world to be fully consummated when Christ returns. Postmillennials would look for God’s kingdom to come and will to be done on earth as in heaven, and would expect that these triumphs would be gradually realized until the time of Christ’s return. The postmillennial position anticipates the gospel to advance in tangible ways in this world, as the outworking of God redeeming men and women will progressively lead to redeemed culture, peoples, and world itself. Timing is not a concern for this task, as this progressive triumph will have a sort of ebb and flow (ups and downs), and its consummation may yet be far off in the future (though it need not be of necessity). This kingdom triumph is also wholly a work of God—the kingdom does not expand by virtue of human effort, yet the kingdom’s advance certainly includes both heaven and earth in its wake.

Sensible Observations About the Strong Man

Why, then, would I make the claim that amillennialism just might convince you of postmillennialism? We have recognized that these two views certainly have a great deal in common, but there is still that difficult business about the nature and place of the kingdom of God. How, then, would amillennialism lead to postmillennialism? In my humble opinion, it is because the outcomes, or consequences, of the doctrines that these views hold in common. To give a specific example, we might consider a passage such as the “Strong Man” passage that is found in the Synoptic Gospels (Matt 12:29 // Mark 3:27 // Luke 11:21–23). There is much to commend about this passage, but it is particularly instructive for us as it is Christ’s own illustration of His defeat of Satan in this world.

The plotline of the passage itself is relatively simple: someone enters a strong man’s house, restrains the strong man, and plunders the house of its goods. Further, there are certain details that emerge when all three accounts of the passage are read in unison with each other (harmonization). The strong man is bound, because unless he is bound his house cannot be entered or plundered. His binding sets the stage for the successful invasion of the home. Further, we’re told that the strong man is fully armed and armored, and is fiercely guarding his house, indicating he expects someone to challenge his domain at some point. However, the one who attacks the strong man is far stronger than he is and overpowers him—the strong man is no match for the one who attacks him. As a result, the strong man is tied up for the explicit purpose of his house being plundered, making clear that the plundering of the house is the stated goal of the intruder (it is why he came).

The characters of this passage are likewise rather straightforward: this illustrative story is given while Christ has been proclaiming His kingdom and casting out demons (and even Beelezebul is in His crosshairs)—this passage is then given to explain what is occurring with Christ’s earthly work. Satan (Beelezebul) is identified the “strong man,” Christ is portrayed as the invader (the Stronger Man), and the house is the territory of this world—clear thus far. The story is given to explain why Christ is not in league with Satan (and, in fact, cannot be), and why His ministry is the focal point of such great exorcisms and the defeat of demonic spirits. To explain this, Christ offers this illustration: there was a strong man in this house, but I have come and restrained him, and I will now plunder his house and its goods.

There is much more to say here, but it is clear that Satan was quite active after the Fall account recorded in Genesis 3. We find Satan boldly accusing the high priest (Zech 3) and impugning God’s righteous servant (Job 1–2), all done in a heavenly courtroom setting (to which he seems to have had access). When asked where he had been, Satan observed that he had been strolling about in the world with freedom. Yet from the Gospel accounts, it seems things have changed quite drastically. There is a kingdom of light that is forcefully confronting that kingdom of darkness. Satan’s offer to give the nations of this world to Christ was to no avail, because Christ had not come to ask for handouts from the strong man, but to restrain him and take what was in his grasp. The demonic exorcisms that instigated the confrontation in the Gospels was only the beginning: Christ explains that His intention is to bind the strong man in defeat, and (here is the key) to plunder his house.

A Seemingly-Unavoidable Dividing Line

It is right up to that last phrase that it seems amillennials and postmillennials would largely be in agreement. Christ victorious, Satan bound, gospel successfully progressing, nations not deceived as previously, etc… yet it is the plundering of the house that may give us a bit of pause. By way of background, I have found this passage sufficiently fascinating that it served as a key element in my doctoral dissertation, as well as in a later book based on that research (link here). That work included quite a bit of interaction with amillennial sources: Beale, Riddlebarger, Hendriksen, and Hoekema became regular conversation partners through those years of research. And again, we would largely agree on what this binding of the strong man entails: that although he is not under final judgment (which is yet-to-come), Satan is unable to accuse the saints as he had in times past, he is unable to exercise authority in this world as he had previously been permitted, and he is unable to deceive the nations in the way that will lead to their final rebellion. He is not without influence (as is often the misunderstanding), but his influence is curtailed.

Yet here, there is a question of critique against my project that is quite interesting. And my answer to this critique is not unlike Chesterton’s observation that he was “the man who with the utmost daring discovered what had been discovered before”—such was certainly my discovery. There are nearly always objections to Satan’s restraint—whether exegetical or experiential, many struggle to say that Satan is bound in any way whatsoever (if not violently object to such an idea), which I suppose is understandable. Things look quite dark at times, after all, so it is not a question without consequence (though we should certainly trust Scripture and not our own subjective perception in such matters). However, the main pushback against the above thesis comes in the form of an exegetical quibble: “if Satan is bound, as you have argued, won’t things begin to look different?” In other words, can Satan be bound, and yet nothing seems to change? And it is precisely here that I think that one’s amillennialism just might convince you of postmillennialism.

The advantage is that both perspectives take this “strong man” passage quite seriously: Christ claims to have bound the strong man, and so we affirm that reality even if the occasional times of darkness give temptation to doubt these words. But there is more to the story than just the strong man’s restraint—the strong man is not bound for no reason, and he is not bound without consequence or effect. Instead, he is bound so that his house may be plundered and his goods seized. For many commentators on this passage, there is often a hearty affirmation of the first point, but a reflexive avoidance of the second. The strong man is bound, but the actual impact upon the house is given qualification after qualification to the point of losing any real meaning. After all, affirming that anything would actually happen to the house may sound a bit premature, a bit over-realized, a bit enthusiastic for some. In the effort to avoid such conclusions and taper such expectations, many would simply affirm that the strong man is bound while also concluding that his house will remain just as it was before. In other words, they would affirm that the house is being plundered in some ethereal or otherworldly sense, but nonetheless conclude that nothing really moves or changes. In fact, many voices would insist that we must conclude that the house will grow progressively worse—it will fall into disrepair and disorder, and every appearance will be that the strong man is still there residing in power as he was before.

But that is not the story that Christ presents. When Christ gives a compelling summary of His conquering work in this world, He assures His disciples that He has bound the strong man and that He is actively plundering his house. The house no longer belongs to the strong man—it belongs to Christ (and He has taken authority over it). The goods of the house are not in the strong man’s possession—they too belong to Christ, and He will set them in order. The power in the house does not rest with the strong man—it also belongs to Christ, and He will progressively exert that power over the whole of the house. Where Adam had failed to exercise his delegated authority over the house (as he had been tasked), Christ became incarnate (truly God and truly Man) precisely so that He might succeed where Adam had failed and reclaim authority over the house, taking it away from the strong man. In other words—the house will look different, because Christ has taken it in order to set things right.

An Inescapable Conclusion

If this is true, the house will start to look a bit changed. Not all at once of course, but there will be a progressive setting-things-right that will take place in the house. First, the strong man will not be able to do what he previously had done, even being “cast down” in his defeat (John 12:31; Heb 2:14). Further, the strong man’s friends and helpers are no longer invited into the house, and when they are met, they are likewise restrained (Col 2:15; 1 Pet 3:22). The strong man is no longer running about the house with freedom, and his helpers and accomplices are being found and defeated. In this same passage, Christ warns His disciples that they must not leave the house “empty,” since if the house is cleansed of darkness and yet remains empty, it will be even worse when the evil forces return (Matt 12:43–45). The house, again, must not just be emptied but must be changed. The disciples are accordingly given a command that is strikingly similar to Adam’s original call: that based on the authority of Christ, they are to disciple all the nations of the world (Matt 28:18–20; cf. Gen 1:26–28). Further, Christians are assured that Christ will continue reigning over the house until all His enemies have been crushed, with death being the last enemy to be defeated (1 Cor 15:25–28). The house, inevitably and unstoppably, is being changed.

This is Christ’s explanation of His defeat of the forces of darkness in this world. It would be difficult to read anything into this passage that would prevent the plundering of the house—whether some sort of heavenly/earthly divide, or a spiritual/physical bifurcation, or anything else that would seek to prevent this plundering from being accomplished. Instead, we are told that Christ has entered the house, He has restrained the strong man, and He has begun to plunder its goods. If there are times that the house still seems quite untidy, and we even find evidence of the strong man’s handiwork, this is not cause to doubt Christ’s claims—it is precisely the time to remind ourselves of what Christ says is truly true. The house belongs to Christ, and He is surely setting it in order.

If these conclusions ring true, we may truly be of good cheer. Many have come before us who have proudly declared these same truths. In the midst of plagues, wars, famines, and persecutions, Christians have confessed that although the darkness yet persists, the light is triumphantly shining. Further, the light is not shining without effect, but is actually casting out the dark. The house was quite dark before, yet there is a Light that shines that is pushing out the darkness. We do not confess those truths because that is our own assessment of things, but rather that this is how Scripture presents what is truly true in this world by virtue of Christ’s victory. In simple terms, this has long been the confession of the postmillennial hope—that Christ rules over the house, that the strong man is bound, and that the house is even now being set in order until such time as death is no more. And it is precisely here, that your consistent amillennialism just might convince you that the kingdom is at hand, the world is Christ’s, and the house is being set in order—it just might convince you of the postmillennial hope.