Understanding God’s Compassion for All . . . And Our Own

One of the most persistent questions in theology is this: how do we bring together God’s sincere compassion for all sinners and His decision to save only some of them?

Scripture presents this to us in at least three ways. First, there are God’s indiscriminate offers of mercy to all. Second, there are declarations of His love for the world, such as John 3:16. Third, there are passages that speak of God’s compassion toward those who are never saved. These seem to pull in different directions. Either God does not truly have compassion for all, or He has compassion but cannot act on it.

This is not a minor difficulty. As A. A. Hodge noted, it is one of the strongest points pressed by Arminians against Calvinists. Robert Lewis Dabney also recognized that Calvinists have often struggled here. Because of that, he believed that this issue deserved another look.

Nor is this just a theoretical issue. When we look at any person and have compassion, we may ask, “Does God stand behind this compassion?”

Dabney offered a solution to this perplexing question in his article, “God’s Indiscriminate Proposals of Mercy: As Related to His Power, Wisdom, and Sincerity.” But his real contribution, I would suggest, lies deeper than he himself fully realized. He did not so much introduce a new principle as expose one already at work—and show how it ought to be applied more consistently.

The Problem: Collapsing Affection into Action
The difficulty arises from an assumption that feels intuitive but is false:

If an affection is real, one must act on it.

If God truly has compassion, then He must relieve the misery. If He does not relieve it, then compassion must not be there.

This assumption drives both sides:

• The Arminian says: if God has compassion, He must act—so something must limit His action.
• Some Calvinists reply: since God does not act, the compassion must not exist in that case.

Both accept the same premise. Both are mistaken.

What is needed is not a new theological distinction, but a clearer understanding of the structure of rational agency itself.

The Key Principle
The principle is simple but far-reaching:

Affections are dispositions toward objects; they are not identical with the actions that may flow from them.

This is not a speculative claim. It is something we observe constantly in human life.

A person may:

• dislike a situation yet permit it,
• grieve a loss yet affirm the decision that led to it,
• feel compassion yet not act on it in a given case.

These are not contradictions. They are the normal functioning of a rational agent.

A rational agent can will or accept an outcome while disapproving parts of it considered in themselves.

We do this all the time. We choose a course of action for good and sufficient reasons, while recognizing that certain aspects of it are undesirable in themselves. The displeasure is real. The choice is also real. They do not cancel each other.

For example, a person can truly want to have children while recognizing this includes accepting many sacrifices that they would not like or accept in the abstract, like continually getting up in the middle of the night.

Once this is seen, much of the theological tension begins to dissolve.

Dabney’s Insight
Dabney’s contribution is to take this feature of human nature and apply it analogically to God.

He distinguishes between:

• the act of will (what is chosen and executed),
• and the dispositions or “conative powers” related to that act.

A ruler may have real compassion for a criminal and yet choose not to pardon him for the sake of justice. In his key analogy in the article, Dabney explained how George Washington could feel genuine pity for the spy Major André and still order his execution based on an analysis of the situation. No one doubts the reality of the compassion simply because it was not acted upon.

Dabney’s question is straightforward:

If this is possible in a finite, imperfect way for human beings, why could it not be true in a higher, perfect way in God?

This gives us a way of saying:

• God can have real compassion toward sinners,
• even when, for wise and holy reasons, He does not save them.

This preserves both divine sovereignty and the sincerity of divine compassion.

What Dabney Saw—and What He Missed
Dabney presents this as a corrective to scholastic theology. In some cases, that is understandable. There were real tendencies toward over-refinement or imbalance.

However, the principle he is using is not foreign to the scholastic tradition. It is already present—sometimes clearly, sometimes less so.

Consider Francis Turretin. In his discussion of Ezekiel 18:23, he says that God does not delight in the death of the wicked inasmuch as it is the destruction of the creature, even though He wills it as an exercise of justice. This refers to what he calls “delight and complacency”—God’s approval of something considered in itself (see his Institutes of Elenctic Theology, 3.16.18).

This is precisely the same structure:

• A real disposition toward something in itself (no delight in destruction),
• alongside a real volition to bring it about in another respect (as just punishment).

Turretin even distinguishes between:

• what God approves (euarestia),
• and what He wills to effect.

In other words, the tools are already there.

But they are not applied consistently.

The Uneven Application
Here is the striking point.

The tradition readily affirms:

• God’s real anger toward sin, even when not immediately acted on,
• God’s patience toward what He disapproves,
• God’s approval of what He does not bring about universally.

No one feels the need to deny the reality of these dispositions.

But when we come to:

• compassion,
• grief,
• pity,

suddenly the same structure is questioned.

Why?

There is no principled reason. It is an inconsistency.

If God can:

• truly disapprove of sin without immediately punishing it, then He can:
• truly have compassion toward suffering without immediately relieving it.

The conceptual framework is identical.

Guarding the Boundaries
Nothing new needs to be introduced to preserve orthodoxy here.

We simply guard compassion and grief in the same way we already guard anger and benevolence:

• They are real dispositions,
• not identical with acting on them,
• and integrated within a single, simple, and wise divine will.

This does not introduce:

• composition in God,
• conflicting wills,
• or passions in a creaturely sense.

It simply affirms that the divine affections are not reducible to outward acts.

Making Sense of Scripture
This approach allows Scripture to speak in its natural sense.

When Scripture says:

• God repents,
• God grieves,
• God has compassion,
• God delights or does not delight,

these are not empty descriptions of effects. They reveal something about God’s nature—analogically and truly.

As Dabney says, we do violence to Scripture if we deny that God here ascribes to Himself “active affections in some mode suitable to his nature” (“God’s Indiscriminate Proposals of Mercy,” 291).

It also allows passages like John 3:16 to retain their plain meaning. God’s love for the world can be understood as a real propension of benevolence, even where it does not issue in the decree to save every individual.

The Anthropological Payoff
This is not only about God. It clarifies human nature.

Modern thinking often assumes:

• emotion must be acted on to be real,
• or that conflicting feelings indicate inconsistency.

But in reality:

• we can grieve and rejoice at the same time,
• we can love one thing and choose another for good reasons,
• we can feel compassion without acting on it in every case.

This is not confusion. It is maturity. It fits with the whole Christian tradition of virtue ethics that emphasizes stable dispositions, rightly ordered affections, and the ability to act toward higher goals and not according to mere impulse.

It has helped me make sense of many of my own feelings. I was sad to leave TN and move to IL and leave three of my children. People have asked me, “Do you miss TN?”

I reply, “Yes.” Then they try to tell me that Peoria is good, too. It’s almost like I can’t miss TN and also be content with being in Peoria. But I am. I like Peoria. I miss TN. I am totally convinced that this move was the right choice in my family. Something can truly be displeasing to me that I choose not to fix for important reasons. Thinking about this working in an analogous but much higher way in God helped me make sense of how this worked out in me, His image.

Conclusion
Dabney helps us see something important: the analogy between God and man is richer than we often assume. Careful observation of human nature can illuminate the doctrine of God.

But the deeper point is this:

The principle he employs—that affections are real dispositions not identical with carrying them out—is already embedded within the classical theological tradition.

What has been lacking is not the concept, but its consistent application.

Once applied, it resolves a longstanding tension:

• God’s compassion is real,
• His sovereignty is intact,
• and Scripture can be read in its plain and natural sense.

More than that, it helps us think more clearly about both God and ourselves. It restores a richer understanding of rational agency—one in which real affections and wise action are not opposed, but harmonized within a unified life. This can lead us to appreciate God’s compassion all the more and know that He stands behind us in our legitimate compassion for others, even when He does not carry it out in the way that we would like.

And once you see how this works out in God’s compassion, it is very difficult not to see it everywhere.