Arminianism, Hypothetical Universalism, Limited Atonement

Christ Died for Sins, Not Categories

Co-written with Jimmy Stephens

Introduction

Tony Byrne recently offered an extensive reply to my vacuity objection against Hypothetical Universalism (HU). While I appreciate the theological depth and historical citations he brings to the conversation, his response ultimately fails to address the core of my critique. In what follows, I will (1) clarify the nature of the vacuity objection, (2) analyze Tony’s key claims, and (3) demonstrate why HU cannot sustain the notion of a “saving provision” for the non-elect without collapsing into either vacuity or universalism.

1. The Vacuity Objection: Not About Application but About Ontology

Let me begin by reaffirming what the vacuity objection is not:

  • It is not merely about whether Christ’s death is applied to the reprobate.
  • It is not the “double payment” argument or Owen’s Trilemma.
  • It is not about denying common grace or the sincerity of gospel offers.

The vacuity objection is this:

If Christ’s death is called a saving provision for the non-elect, but (a) secures no saving benefits for them, (b) is not intended for their salvation, and (c) will never be applied to them, then in what meaningful sense can it be called a saving provision for them?

The vacuity objection is, at its core, an ad hoc critique. Hypothetical Universalism (HU) affirms a “saving provision” in Christ’s death for the non-elect—but only because its system demands it. There is no independent biblical or theological grounding for this category. It isn’t drawn from what Christ objectively accomplished in His death; it’s inserted after the fact to maintain the appearance of a universal offer.

And that’s the heart of the problem. HU cannot tell us what this provision is—only what it supposedly does. It is defined entirely by its function: to make the gospel offer appear sincere. But it has no redemptive substance—no place in the divine intention, no grounding in priestly substitution, no connection to covenantal securing of actual benefits. It is inferred from the fact that the gospel is preached to all, and then used to justify why it’s preached to all. This is circular. HU assumes a benefit to support the offer, then uses the offer to assert the existence of the benefit.

The issue is not what the atonement might do if someone believes, but what it is, in itself. What did Christ objectively accomplish for the elect—and more pointedly, for the non-elect—on the cross? HU cannot give a clear answer. Did He bear their sins? Was their guilt imputed to Him? Did He secure for them forgiveness, reconciliation, or peace with God? If the answer is no—as it must be—then what exactly was “provided” to them, logically prior to faith? HU cannot identify any redemptive benefit that exists apart from belief, yet still insists that something has been provided. But provision without content is not provision at all.

HU’s view of provision reverses the proper theological order. Instead of starting with what Christ did and for whom He did it, it begins with the universal offer and then invents a category to make that offer seem viable. In doing so, it redefines provision as a placeholder—something with no substance in itself, only a utility. The provision is not revealed in the gospel; it is manufactured to uphold the system.

This is the hallmark of an ad hoc move. A theological claim is introduced, not because it is independently grounded in Scripture or doctrine, but because it is needed to prevent the system from collapsing. This kind of reasoning is arbitrary: it does not proceed from principle or revelation, but from pragmatic necessity. A term like “provision” is inserted, not because it names something real, but because the alternative—admitting the offer isn’t universal in intent—would be inconvenient. But when a system relies on concepts that exist purely to patch its own holes, it is no longer expounding theology; it is improvising. That’s not doctrinal integrity—it’s doctrinal self-preservation. And when the scaffolding is made of fiction, the whole thing is hollow.

To make this clearer, consider a cultural analogy: the now-infamous question, “What is a woman?” In that debate, many refuse to define the term biologically or ontologically. Instead, they define it functionally: a woman is “whoever identifies as one” or “who performs the social role of one.” But this empties the category of any meaningful content. It becomes a performative label—a role one assumes—not a real, grounded identity. The word is preserved rhetorically, but it collapses the moment someone asks what it actually refers to.

HU’s use of “provision” follows the same pattern. It cannot define what atonement is for the non-elect—only that something must be there because the system says so. But without a definite referent in Christ’s work, this so-called provision is just a performative category. It’s not there because God revealed it. It’s there because the logic of HU falls apart without it.

This is the heart of the vacuity objection: HU’s “provision” is a name without a referent—a word invented to preserve theological optics. It’s not grounded in the reality of the cross, but in the need to salvage a framework. Like the redefinitions of “woman” that dissolve into incoherence under scrutiny, HU’s provision collapses when asked to identify its substance apart from its rhetorical role. It is not a doctrine of Christ crucified, but a patch for a man-made dilemma.

In the end, HU offers a gospel for all, but an atonement for none—unless faith makes it so. And if faith determines the content of the atonement, then HU no longer proclaims a finished work. It proclaims a hypothetical one.

2. The HU Claim: A Saving Possibility Backed by PSA

Tony claims that HU avoids this problem by affirming that:

  • Christ bore the penalty of sin for all people, including the reprobate.
  • His death is “categorically” sufficient to atone for every kind of sin.
  • Therefore, it “backs” the gospel offer to all and renders salvation genuinely possible for all.

Here’s where we must ask the pressing question:

What exactly does penal substitution procure for the reprobate under HU?

Tony’s answer is: a real opportunity to be saved, or what Jonathan Edwards calls “a door of mercy.” But this introduces a deeper problem:

  • If this opportunity is not intended to be actualized (since God never gives faith),
  • If the death of Christ secures no saving benefits (forgiveness, righteousness, reconciliation) for the reprobate,
  • Then the so-called “saving provision” amounts to nothing more than an invented category—something asserted, not revealed. It serves no redemptive purpose in itself; it exists solely to support the claim that the gospel offer is sincere. But without any grounding in Christ’s intent, accomplishment, or application, this “provision” is not a benefit—it’s a device. It has no substance beyond the function HU needs it to perform.

So what has been procured? Not salvation. Not the means of salvation. Not any benefit that leads to salvation. Just a possibility that is never intended to be realized.

That is vacuity.

3. The Response: “But It’s a Real Benefit!”

Tony attempts to deflect the vacuity charge by citing Jonathan Edwards and Thomas Manton. He says the reprobate have been placed in a “saveable state” and therefore receive a benefit from Christ’s death. But this claim fails to address the objection at two key levels:

3.1. Category Confusion: Saving vs. Non-Saving Benefits

It’s true that all people receive benefits from Christ’s work—this is standard Reformed doctrine on common grace. But my critique is not about whether the reprobate benefit in a general sense. It is about whether Christ’s penal substitution is rightly called a saving provision for them.

Tony says: “Well, they’re put into a saveable state.” But that is not a saving benefit unless:

  • Something saving is procured,
  • That something is intended for them,
  • And it has a real causal link to the end of salvation.

But HU admits that:

  • Christ did not procure faith, regeneration, or union with Christ for the reprobate.
  • He did not intend to save them.
  • And the death of Christ results in no saving effect for them.

So what Tony calls a “benefit” is not a saving benefit at all. It produces no change in the salvific state of the non-elect—no pardon, no reconciliation, no regeneration. It is a benefit in name only. The label “saving provision” is misapplied, because nothing salvific is actually provided. It’s a theological placeholder, not a redemptive act.

3.2. Historical Appeals

Tony appeals to Jonathan Edwards to defend the idea that Christ procured a benefit for the reprobate by opening a “door of mercy”—an opportunity to be saved that would not have existed otherwise. Edwards does write that all mankind now “have an opportunity to be saved” due to Christ’s death, and that God intended this. But this formulation only sharpens the vacuity problem. While it may sound like real provision, the opportunity Edwards describes is not grounded in any intent to save the non-elect. It is not joined to any saving effect, nor is it ordered toward any redemptive outcome in their case.

So what is it? Not redemption. Not reconciliation. Not intercession. Just the removal of an obstacle—a clearing of space in which judgment becomes more visibly deserved. The “door of mercy,” for the reprobate, is not a door they are intended or enabled to pass through. It is a frame—propped open for the scene, never for their entrance. In that sense, Edwards’ formulation reveals rather than resolves the vacuity objection. It names an opportunity that has no personal application and no saving power. It is a benefit in name only.

Tony also appeals to Charles Hodge, who says Christ’s death “renders the salvation of all men possible.” But here again, the distinction between possibility and provision collapses under scrutiny. Hodge is not claiming that Christ bore the sins of all men or secured any redemptive effect for the non-elect. He is simply saying that salvation is not legally or structurally impossible. But that is not a saving benefit—it is the absence of a barrier, not the presence of grace. And if God never intends to bring the non-elect to faith, and Christ never purchased salvation for them, then the supposed possibility is not mercy—it is indictment. It increases responsibility without offering any real gift.

At this point, it’s important to recognize that Tony is conflating his own conceptual justification for HU with what Edwards and Hodge were actually doing. He reads their language—“opportunity,” “possibility,” and “universal provision”—as if it serves the same role as the HU claim that Christ procured a saving benefit for all. But Edwards and Hodge were not offering a metaphysical account of a redemptive gift to the non-elect. They were explaining how the universal call can be made sincerely, even when it is not grounded in universal intent. Their language was functional and moral, not ontological. Tony imports their phrases into HU’s framework and has them do work they were never meant to perform. But conceptual similarity does not imply theological equivalence. And that’s exactly where the confusion lies.

Thomas Manton serves as a helpful contrast here. He affirms that Christ’s death is “enough to save all the world,” but he never treats this sufficiency as an actual provision for the non-elect. He does not ground the offer in a redemptive benefit procured for all. For Manton, the offer is universal because Christ is sufficient—not because He died to secure a saving opportunity for those God never intended to save. He avoids the vacuity problem precisely by refusing to blur sufficiency into provision.

These historical formulations, when taken at face value, do not rescue HU from the vacuity objection—they confirm it. The “benefits” Tony describes are not saving benefits. They do not change the salvific state of the non-elect, remove guilt, secure peace, or accomplish anything redemptive for them. They merely intensify their condemnation under a more generous-sounding offer. If that’s all the atonement gives them, then “saving provision” is a misnomer. What HU offers is not grace—it is theological staging.

Now, it’s worth noting: Tony is far more well-read than I am in matters of Reformation and post-Reformation theology. It’s not my aim here to offer a detailed exegesis of Edwards, Hodge, or Manton—there are far more capable scholars for that task. Even if any of these men did affirm something vacuous, it wouldn’t undermine the validity of the conceptual objection I’m raising. Moreover, I believe all three held firmly to particular redemption. If so, their names cannot be marshaled in defense of Hypothetical Universalism, nor do I believe they appealed to HU as a solution to the free offer. Their language may have opened the door for confusion, but they did not walk through it.

Finally, my argument here is not aimed at defending definite atonement against non-Calvinist objections. My focus is narrower—and, I believe, novel: I am raising a specific objection to HU on its own terms. It posits a “saving provision” for the non-elect that cannot be defined as saving, intended, or accomplished. The problem is not merely what it fails to achieve—it’s what it fails to be.

For those interested in a rigorous defense of definite atonement and the free offer, I recommend Jimmy Stephens’ article: “The Sincerity of the Gospel Offer and Particular Redemption”. He treats those issues in detail. My goal here is to show that HU collapses not because it fails to answer Arminians, but because it cannot answer itself.

3.3. Clarifying Against Hyper-Calvinism: Particular Redemption Does Not Require Denying God’s Universal Love

A common objection raised by hypothetical universalists is that affirming particular redemption leads inevitably to hyper-Calvinism—that is, a denial of God’s common love, universal saving will, or the free offer of the gospel to all.

But this is a category mistake.

There is no logical or theological necessity that ties particular redemption to hyper-Calvinist distinctives. One can affirm without contradiction that:

Christ died only for the elect (definite atonement), God nevertheless has a genuine compassion for all (Matt. 5:44–45; Ezek. 33:11), God offers salvation sincerely to all who hear the gospel (Isa. 55:1; Rev. 22:17), And He truly desires the repentance, not the destruction, of the wicked (2 Pet. 3:9).

The sincerity of the gospel offer does not rest on the notion that Christ died for every person individually. It rests on the authority of God’s command and the sufficiency of Christ’s office as Mediator and King over all humanity. He has been “declared to be the Son of God with power” (Rom. 1:4), and from that position of universal lordship He commands all men everywhere to repent (Acts 17:30).

As shown in The Sincerity of the Gospel Call, the gospel is offered not on the basis of individual intent to save, but on the basis of a real covenantal call—and all who come are saved, without exception.

4. The “Categorical” Imputation Move and Its Collapse

In an effort to preserve the universality of Christ’s penal substitution without embracing universalism, Tony redefines the nature of substitution itself. He argues that Christ suffered not for particular persons or their individual sins, but “categorically”—as a representative of sin classes (e.g., theft, murder, lying) rather than of specific sinners.

But this move fundamentally undermines the very logic of penal substitution. For substitution to be truly redemptive, it must:

  • Be representative: Christ stands in the legal place of actual persons, not abstract categories.
  • Be particular: The law’s demands are satisfied on behalf of those persons, not as a generic response to sin “in general.”
  • Be intentional: It is an atonement designed to secure the salvation of those persons.

If Christ’s suffering is only “categorical”—that is, He dies for what liars or thieves deserve in a general way, without any redemptive relation to specific persons—then there is no actual substitution. There is no “He bore our sins in His body on the tree” (1 Pet. 2:24). There is no Isaiah 53: “the LORD has laid on him the iniquity of us all.”

The “categorical” view guts penal substitution of its defining exchange. Christ does not stand in the place of real persons. He merely satisfies a type.

4.1. Categorical Atonement Is Vacuous Atonement

Even worse, the attempt to distinguish “categories of sin” from particular sins collapses upon inspection. What is a sin “category” if not a conceptual abstraction from particular acts committed by particular persons?

  • “Theft” doesn’t exist apart from thieves.
  • “Murder” is not a disembodied moral category—it exists only in particular acts.
  • So to say Christ suffered for “what murderers deserve,” apart from any real substitution for actual murderers, is to turn penal substitution into a symbolic gesture.

This attempt to preserve universality by collapsing substitution into abstraction creates vacuity at the core of the atonement. The work of Christ is no longer grounded in redemptive intentionality toward real sinners, but in vague legal categories with no actual referent.

4.2. Biblical Substitution Is Always Particular and Personal

Furthermore, the biblical witness does not frame Christ’s atoning work in terms of abstract categories of wrongdoing. It speaks in concrete, covenantal, and personal terms:

  • “He himself bore our sins in his body on the tree” (1 Pet. 2:24).
  • “The Lord has laid on him the iniquity of us all” (Isa. 53:6).
  • “Christ was offered once to bear the sins of many” (Heb. 9:28).
  • “For our sake he made him to be sin who knew no sin” (2 Cor. 5:21).
  • “Christ died for our sins in accordance with the Scriptures” (1 Cor. 15:3).

These texts do not present Christ as bearing “murder” or “theft” in the abstract. They speak of real guilt, borne on behalf of real sinners, resulting in real reconciliation.

To reduce this to a categorical penalty for generic sins without redemptive reference to persons empties the cross of its covenantal substitutionary meaning. Christ does not redeem “types.” He redeems people. And if the reprobate are not among those people in God’s redemptive intent, then they are not among those for whom He died in that saving sense.

4.3. Biblical Substitution Always Presupposes Particular Guilt

The Old Testament sacrificial system, prophetic enactments, and covenantal narratives all show that substitution is never merely abstract or general. It is legal, covenantal, and person-specific. The structure of substitution presupposes:

  • A real subject (a sinner under covenant law),
  • A real substitute (appointed by God to bear guilt),
  • A real transaction (in which guilt is transferred and dealt with).

The HU model, by contrast, attempts to preserve a universal scope by reducing substitution to the bearing of abstract sin categories (e.g., “what murderers deserve”) detached from any legal imputation to persons. But this has no basis in the typology or logic of the Old Testament, which everywhere treats guilt as personal, covenantal, and forensic.

Let’s consider four critical examples.

4.3.1. Levitical Sacrifices: Particular Sins, Particular People

The sin and guilt offerings in Leviticus demonstrate that atonement was always tied to specific persons who had violated specific commands:

“If anyone of the common people sins unintentionally in doing any one of the things that by the Lord’s commandments ought not to be done… he shall bring for his offering a goat… and the priest shall make atonement for him, and he shall be forgiven.”
—Leviticus 4:27–31

This is not atonement for sin “in general,” nor for humanity in the abstract. It is covenantal atonement for a known transgressor of a known law. The animal is offered as a legal substitute, standing in the place of a covenant member who violated the specific stipulations of God’s revealed will.

The same principle governs the Day of Atonement in Leviticus 16. Here, the high priest lays both hands on the scapegoat and confesses the people’s sins:

“And Aaron shall lay both his hands on the head of the live goat, and confess over it all the iniquities of the people of Israel, and all their transgressions, all their sins. And he shall put them on the head of the goat…”
—Leviticus 16:21

Again, this is not a ritual dealing with “sinfulness” as a broad moral category. The scapegoat bears actual covenantal guilt in relation to the legal terms of the covenant. The confession isn’t symbolic poetry—it is judicial transfer. These were transgressions of specific laws which required death or cleansing, and the substitute bore that judgment representatively.

Substitution in Israel’s sacrificial system is never abstract—it is forensic, covenantal, and personal. HU’s claim that Christ bore “what liars deserve” or “what murderers deserve” fails to mirror this typological structure. The scapegoat did not bear “lying in general” but Israel’s covenantal lying—offenses judged by Torah and confessed by name.

The Old Testament sacrificial system does not treat sin as a vague moral deficiency, psychological dysfunction, or existential state. It defines sin as a real covenantal violation—a breach of God’s law that accrues guilt and defilement. And this guilt is not merely internal; it contaminates persons, the community, and even sacred space.

Leviticus 16 underscores this point: the high priest must “make atonement for the holy place” (v. 16), “for the tent of meeting and for the altar” (vv. 20, 33). These are not symbolic gestures—they are covenantal necessities. Even inanimate objects are treated as polluted because of the people’s sins. The sanctuary itself becomes unclean—not due to its own nature, but because of the defilement transferred through the sins of Israel. Sin spreads and saturates. It is not static. It adheres to and invades whatever is in proximity to the covenant community.

Victor Hamilton and others rightly observe that this demands a form of expiation that is not vague or general. It must be targeted, legal, and effective. The Hebrew verb kāpar (“to make atonement”) occurs repeatedly in Leviticus 16, but always with precision. Significantly, when people are involved, the object of kāpar is never a person directly. Instead, the preposition ʿal (“for” or “on behalf of”) is used, showing that people are beneficiaries—not direct objects—of atonement. In contrast, the sanctuary, the altar, and the vessels of worship are direct grammatical objects. They are what have been defiled and thus must be cleansed. This grammatical structure communicates a theology: the sin is covenantal and legal, the guilt is real and transferable, and the expiation must be specific and effectual.

This same pattern is evident in the ritual of the scapegoat (Lev. 16:20–22). After the sacrifice of the first goat, which is killed as a sin offering, the high priest lays both hands on the live goat and confesses “all the iniquities of the people of Israel, and all their transgressions, all their sins.” These three terms (ḥaṭṭāʿt, ʿāwōn, pešaʿ) are legal terms loaded with covenantal weight. The piling up of synonyms intensifies the point: this goat represents a full spectrum of actual guilt. And the word pešaʿ, often translated “transgression,” is particularly significant—it refers to willful rebellion or covenant-treason and appears only twice in Leviticus: both times in this chapter.

The goat is then “sent away” into the wilderness, bearing the guilt of the people to a place of separation—”a land of cutting off”—a phrase which throughout Leviticus denotes divine judgment. The rite is not symbolic catharsis; it is forensic removal. The sin doesn’t just disappear—it is borne away by a substitute. As Pierced for Our Transgressions argues, this is real substitution. An innocent creature dies (or is exiled) in place of the guilty, and the guilty live because the penalty has been transferred.

To further illustrate the covenantal logic: Genesis 50:17 is the only other occurrence of pešaʿ in the Pentateuch. Joseph’s brothers plead with him: “Please forgive the transgression (pešaʿ) of your brothers…” What are they referring to? Not a general category of sinfulness, but specific acts—selling Joseph into slavery, deceiving their father, and breaking familial trust. The word is historical, concrete, and legally significant. To interpret either Genesis 50 or Leviticus 16 as dealing with abstract “sin-nature” is to impose a foreign framework upon the text—one that flattens covenantal history and distorts biblical theology.

This understanding is crucial because it forms the backdrop to Isaiah 53, where the Suffering Servant “bears the iniquities of many” and is made a guilt offering (ʿāšām). Isaiah doesn’t invent this framework—he draws directly from Leviticus. The Servant bears sin (nāśāʿ, sābal), just as the scapegoat does in Leviticus 16:22. The terms are identical. The typology is deliberate and profound: Isaiah’s Servant is the fulfillment of the scapegoat and sin offering, carrying away the guilt of a particular people through substitutionary suffering.

The New Testament confirms this fulfillment explicitly:

“He himself bore our sins in his body on the tree…” (1 Pet. 2:24) “He has appeared once for all… to put away sin by the sacrifice of himself.” (Heb. 9:26) “You shall call his name Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins.” (Matt. 1:21)

And in Colossians 2:13–14, Paul captures the legal reality of this atonement:

“[God] forgave us all our trespasses, by canceling the record of debt (cheirographon) that stood against us with its legal demands. This he set aside, nailing it to the cross.”

G. K. Beale explains that the cheirographon refers to a written certificate of debt—a legal document itemizing one’s transgressions and the penalties attached. Christ doesn’t merely express compassion—He satisfies the demands of divine justice by taking that record and legally nullifying it in His crucifixion. The nailing of the debt to the cross is a concrete forensic transaction, not a symbolic gesture.

This covenantal and typological pattern completely refutes Hypothetical Universalism’s abstraction. HU speaks of Christ dying for “sin as such,” or bearing “what all sinners deserve.” But this turns the atonement into a conceptual gesture—bearing liabilities detached from actual people. By contrast, Leviticus, Isaiah, and the New Testament all insist that substitution involves:

  • Real guilt, attached to identifiable sinners,
  • A real substitute, who bears that guilt away,
  • And a real transaction, in which the debt is satisfied and the sinner is freed.

The English hypothetical universalists like Davenant often described Christ as dying pro nobis ut peccatores—for us as sinners, generically, rather than for our actual sins. But the Levitical system, Isaiah’s Servant Song, and Paul’s theology reject that abstraction. They know of no substitution that isn’t covenantal, forensic, and particular. The atonement is not provisionally available for categories. It is definitively accomplished for persons.

In sum: the biblical theology of atonement, from Leviticus to Colossians, is irreconcilable with a model in which Christ dies for types of sin or potential sinners. He does not bear “what sinners deserve.” He bears our sins. And unless we preserve that distinction, we gut the meaning of substitution and empty the gospel of its power.

4.3.2. Ezekiel: Symbolically Bearing Numbered Guilt

This pattern of personal, covenantal substitution continues in prophetic symbolism. In Ezekiel 4:4–6, God commands the prophet to symbolically bear the iniquity of the house of Israel and Judah:

“Then lie on your left side, and place the punishment of the house of Israel upon it… 390 days… And when you have completed these, lie down a second time… 40 days… a day for each year.”

Ezekiel’s act is not a generic statement about “covenant-breaking in general.” He is commanded to bear the exact number of years of their guilt—390 for Israel and 40 for Judah. His body becomes a judicial symbol of precise covenantal liability, assigned by God’s decree.

If HU’s model were applied here, Ezekiel would simply lie on his side “for sinners” or “for rebellion,” with no reference to time, covenant, or people. But Scripture is exact: judgment is numbered, guilt is located, substitution is targeted. This precision reflects the forensic nature of atonement in biblical theology. Generic bearing of sin has no warrant.

4.3.3. Achan: Particular Sin Imputed to the Covenant Community

In Joshua 7, Achan’s theft leads to national defeat at Ai. Yet God declares:

“Israel has sinned; they have transgressed my covenant…”
—Joshua 7:11

Only Achan acted, but the guilt is covenantally corporate. The transgression was actual, not hypothetical; the consequence is national, not individualistic. The term “theft” does not hover abstractly above the camp. It is located in one man, and imputed to the whole.

Some may object that this language of “debt” treats guilt as if it were a quantifiable substance, rather than a moral or relational condition. But I’m not suggesting that sin is a substance, nor is that assumption relevant to the argument. My point is much simpler: to speak of sins in abstraction—detached from people, guilt, and covenant—is neither coherent nor biblical.

I’m not insisting that sin must be conceived in strictly financial or commercial terms. I have no objection to such metaphors; Scripture uses them freely. But even if we take “debt” metaphorically, it remains a metaphor about real guilt, borne by real people, requiring real satisfaction. It refers to your sins, your liability, your need for a Redeemer—not a general condition floating above humanity.

Some will say that “debt” is just a figure of speech—a way of talking about the effects of sin, not its ontological status. But this objection misunderstands both the Scriptural usage and the covenantal-legal framework of redemptive history. In both Old and New Testaments, sin is described not merely as moral impurity or existential brokenness, but as a forensic liability—a real standing under judgment, with legal consequences. This is why Scripture consistently uses courtroom and accounting language:

  • “The soul who sins shall die” (Ezek. 18:4) – a legal sentence.
  • “If he has wronged you… charge that to my account” (Philem. 18) – legal debt transfer.
  • “Forgive us our debts…” (Matt. 6:12) – not just poetic language, but grounded in covenantal breach.
  • “The wages of sin is death” (Rom. 6:23) – the judicial outcome of violation.

And most importantly, in Colossians 2:13–14, Paul does not speak poetically, but juridically. The “record of debt” (χειρόγραφον) refers to a written legal certificate—a list of actual offenses with corresponding penalties. The cross doesn’t merely express God’s love; it satisfies justice by nailing that record to the cross, legally canceling what was owed.

So no—the debt Christ cancels is not a literary flourish. It is covenantal guilt under divine law. And if that guilt is real, then its imputation to Christ must be real, and its satisfaction must be definite, not hypothetical. But again—even if one insists on treating “debt” as metaphor—it is still a metaphor for a real problem involving real people, not an impersonal abstraction about generic “sinfulness.”

HU, by treating Christ’s death as satisfaction for “sin in general,” while disconnecting it from definite people and their actual guilt, transforms the atonement into legal fiction or mere moral potential. But Scripture never treats the cross as hypothetical. It is a real transaction, removing real debt, for real sinners.

4.3.4. Fulfillment in Christ: Particular Atonement for His People

The New Testament does not spiritualize or generalize the substitutionary logic of the Old Testament—it fulfills it. Christ does not die for “sinfulness in general” or for “humanity as an abstract.” He dies for a particular people, bearing their actual guilt, and removing their covenantal liability by the judgment of the cross.

“You shall call his name Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins.”
—Matthew 1:21

“The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep.”
—John 10:15

“He gave himself for us to redeem us from all lawlessness…”
—Titus 2:14

“He himself bore our sins in his body on the tree…”
—1 Peter 2:24

These are not vague expressions. They assert that Christ, in His death, was a legal substitute for actual people whose specific sins He bore. The most detailed expression of this is found in Colossians 2:

“And you, who were dead in your trespasses… God made alive together with him, having forgiven us all our trespasses, by canceling the record of debt that stood against us with its legal demands. This he set aside, nailing it to the cross.”
—Colossians 2:13–14

As Beale explains, the “record of debt” (χειρόγραφον) refers to a legal IOU—a list of covenant-breaking offenses that stood against both Jew and Gentile because of their violations of God’s law. This is not a metaphorical “bad feeling” about sin. It is an objective legal charge. The phrase “with its legal demands” confirms its forensic nature: this record was a hostile, condemnatory document whose demands had to be answered.

Paul tells us that God historically canceled this legal document—not in the moment of belief, but at the cross. The participle “forgiving” (χαρισάμενος) in verse 13 is functionally synonymous with the act of “canceling” the debt in verse 14. As Beale notes, this word can refer to actual debt forgiveness (cf. Luke 7:42–43), and the cross is where that forgiveness happened. The cross was not merely a potential provision—it was a judicial act of removing guilt.

To make this even more explicit: the cross is where the certificate of debt was nailed, which echoes ancient crucifixion practice where the charge against the condemned was posted publicly. Paul may be drawing on that practice to show that our charge—the legal indictment—was nailed to Christ’s cross. It was not symbolic. It was penal. Christ bore the real debt of sin, and that debt was legally canceled when He died.

This also confirms the sequence: being made alive with Christ (v. 13) is the direct result of having been forgiven, which is itself the result of the debt being historically canceled at the cross. To remain in deadness would be to remain under condemnation. Therefore, to say that Christ bore a person’s guilt without that person being made alive is to deny the forensic nature of the act itself. As Beale writes, “the penal debt against sinners was removed because it was placed on Jesus at the cross… He suffered the penal debt of his people’s sin.”

This strikes at the heart of Hypothetical Universalism. If Christ bore the “penal debt” of the non-elect, then their guilt is canceled, and they must be forgiven and made alive. But HU cannot affirm this without collapsing into full universalism. If, on the other hand, the non-elect are not forgiven, not made alive, and remain condemned, then Christ did not bear their debt. There is no category in Paul for debts borne but guilt remaining. To bear sin is to remove guilt.

And even if someone insists that “debt” is only metaphorical, the metaphor still refers to a real covenantal problem, not an abstraction. Debt implies guilt. Cancellation implies satisfaction. Forgiveness implies substitution. HU’s attempt to universalize substitution while particularizing application breaks this forensic logic and turns the cross into a possibility, not a finished work.

The covenantal logic of substitution is mirrored in Scripture’s doctrine of final judgment. Just as atonement is particular and judicially precise, so too is condemnation. In the biblical vision of judgment, God does not evaluate people by abstract identity (“sinner in general”), but by particular deeds.

“He will render to each one according to his works.” (Rom. 2:6)
“And the dead were judged by what was written in the books, according to what they had done.” (Rev. 20:12)

Scripture does not describe judgment in terms of guilt by ontological category (e.g., “human,” or “lawbreaker”), but by specific acts committed in history. This fact exposes the inconsistency of any view—like Hypothetical Universalism—that severs the atonement from particular people and their real transgressions.

If divine justice demands that people be judged for their works—not merely being sinners, but doing sin—then any redemptive substitute must bear not just “sin in general” but specific guilt for specific acts committed by specific people.

This again aligns with:

  • The OT sacrificial logic (Lev. 4–5, 16),
  • The prophetic treatment of covenant treachery (Jer. 3, Ezek. 16),
  • The servant’s bearing of guilt in Isaiah 53 (“he shall bear their iniquities”),
  • The NT’s legal view of sin and justification (Col. 2:13–14).

This coherence collapses under HU’s abstraction. If Christ’s death merely satisfies a “category of judgment” rather than clearing specific ledgers of covenantal debt, then it fails to mirror the structure of divine judgment itself. It becomes a generic provision, not a real satisfaction.

Moreover, if final judgment is never based on abstract sinfulness, then how can atonement be based on abstract guilt?

This logic is reinforced in Romans 2:5–6, where Paul says God’s wrath is “stored up” for each person “on the day of wrath”—not because they are “sinners,” but because of their deeds. That wrath, too, is particular and legal. It is incurred by real transgression and discharged only by real satisfaction.

So: judgment is personal. Atonement is personal. Guilt is covenantal. And unless Christ bears your actual guilt, your record remains.

I want to express my sincere gratitude to Tony for taking the time to engage with my critique. His response was not only thorough and well-researched but also marked by a spirit of kindness, clarity, and openness. In a theological discussion as nuanced as this, his willingness to engage directly and respectfully with the core issues has been both refreshing and deeply appreciated.

Tony Byrne wrote in response:

“Just looking at the title alone makes me cringe: ‘Christ died for sins, not categories.’ 🙄 What a misrepresentation. The example I gave you, theft, is a sin. Theft is a sin that the law condemns categorically or universally. The law does not merely say, ‘stealing a wagon is wrong.’ It says stealing is wrong, categorically, and so we know the particular sin of wagon theft is wrong. If you can’t get even that idea right, I don’t see the use of further interaction.”

The irony is that you begin by misrepresenting what I said—even as you accuse me of misrepresenting you.

The issue isn’t whether theft is wrong categorically. Of course it is. The law condemns theft as a class precisely so that people committing real acts—wagon theft, payroll fraud, temple robbery—are found guilty before God. That’s how moral categories function in biblical law: as shorthand for condemning every actual instance of the violation.

But the atonement doesn’t deal with “theft in general.” It deals with covenantally imputed guilt for specific acts. Christ didn’t die for abstract concepts. He died for sins—real, identifiable transgressions, legally charged to real people. That’s what Colossians 2:14 and Leviticus 16 both emphasize: actual violations, not abstract moral types.

Yes, theft is condemned as a category. But substitution doesn’t happen at the level of abstraction. The cross doesn’t suffer for “the idea of theft.” Christ bore our sins—which means real guilt, historically committed, legally recorded, and judicially satisfied. He didn’t die for the ontological category of lawbreaking—He died for the record of debt that stood against us (Col. 2:14).

So no, I’m not denying the moral category. I’m denying your model of atonement that detaches guilt from persons and sin from covenant. The Levitical system doesn’t work that way. Isaiah 53 doesn’t work that way. Colossians 2 doesn’t work that way. And penal substitution doesn’t work that way either.

From my perspective, it’s not that I misunderstood your point. It’s that I understood its implications more clearly than you’ve admitted.

You say Christ bore “what lawbreakers deserve”—but you frame this categorically, as if Christ bore the penalty for “sin in general.” But Scripture is covenantal, legal, and personal. It doesn’t punish classes. It punishes people. It doesn’t substitute for “murder” or “theft” as ideas. It substitutes for sinners and bears their recorded guilt.

That’s why the title isn’t a misrepresentation—it’s a correction.

Christ died for sins, not categories.

And unless you preserve that distinction, you don’t have penal substitution. You have a hypothetical gesture suspended in abstraction.

Even David Allen—an advocate of unlimited atonement and someone Tony has collaborated with—recognizes that there is a meaningful difference between saying Christ died for “sin in general” and for “specific sins of specific people.” In The Extent of the Atonement, Allen critiques Garry Williams’s defense of particular redemption by granting that while the New Testament may use both “sin” (generic) and “sins” (specific), the claim that Christ bore “specific sins committed by particular people” cannot be dismissed as incoherent:

“He makes much of the point that ‘sin’ (generic) and ‘sins’ (specific) are not mutually exclusive in use. This is correct. His conclusion, however, does not follow and is in need of nuance: ‘Although none of these NT writers were self-consciously addressing our question, they evidently held that Jesus died bearing specific sins committed by particular people.’ Actually, the NT authors were self-consciously addressing the question of the extent of the atonement in several places. If by ‘specific’ Williams means all specific sins but not in some quantifiable manner, and if by ‘particular’ he means all people individually and not some people individually, then the statement is correct.”
—David L. Allen, The Extent of the Atonement, Kindle Location 22312

Allen is trying to apply this to a universalist framework, but he still affirms the basic point: Christ’s atonement concerns actual sins, not just moral categories. He grants that Christ bore specific sins—not abstractions—and for individuals, not just humanity as an undifferentiated mass. That alone contradicts the kind of categorical abstraction Tony has proposed.

This only underscores the issue: The Bible doesn’t say Christ died for “lawbreaking” in the abstract. It says He bore “our sins.” And even theologians who disagree with particular redemption concede that this substitution is specific, not generic.

It seems that Tony adopts this same strategic framework in order to avoid the dilemma posed by the vacuity objection. Several Reformed theologians—especially among the English hypothetical universalists—gravitated toward a more generic conception of Christ’s atonement. Figures such as John Davenant, Richard Baxter, and James Ussher, along with the Saumur theologians like Amyraut and Cappel, frequently spoke of Christ dying “for sin as such” or “pro nobis ut peccatores”—for us as sinners generically rather than for our specific sins. This language, while motivated by a desire to uphold the universal sufficiency of the atonement, introduced a categorical framework that blurs the forensic particularity essential to penal substitution. In this model, Christ bears “lawbreaking” or “sin in general,” not the legally imputed guilt of covenant-bound persons. By framing guilt categorically, Tony attempts to preserve the idea that Christ died for all without committing to the implications of particular satisfaction—namely, that the sins of the non-elect were truly borne and thus removed. But in doing so, he inherits the very abstraction that undermines the biblical logic of substitution: Christ becomes a stand-in for conceptual classes, not a redeemer of legally guilty individuals.

📚 Further Reading

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