Beliefs and Style

In his Lectures, Finney demonstrates an unwitting dependence upon the Newtonian metaphysics that conceived of the universe rather mechanically. Frequently, he would refer to a universal "intelligence," "reason," "law," "government," or "principle," that is supreme and to which even God is subject. As far as the divine attributes are concerned, "All God's moral attributes are only so many attributes of love or of disinterested benevolence," and such comments are pronounced without the slightest exegetical appeal, much unlike the Confession itself. In fact, one is impressed throughout the Lectures with the absence of proof texts, the collection reading like a volume of Blackstone's Law.

Nothing like a traditional method of systematic theology is attempted and the doctrine of God is strangely deduced from "self-evident principles" rather than from Scripture. The result is a deity whose features are virtually indistinguishable from Islam's "Allah." There is nothing specifically Christian about Finney's doctrine of God, much less is it an explicitly evangelical description.

Finney's anthropology suffers from a similar lack of exegesis and historical-theological reflection. Once again the theory is proved that those who naively and self-confidently presume to be independent of the sources (i.e., "mere men") are often the most easily beguiled by the subtleties of what they do not understand. Finney's anti-intellectualism and self-confidence notwithstanding, he was a mirror reflection of his age.

Taylor, in The Quarterly Christian Spectator, June 1829, argued that children are not born into the world sinful, but rapidly acquire a self-indulgent disposition by practice and repetition until it becomes a bias. Finney follows the Taylorites to the conclusion that if God commands something, it must be possible. Edwards, of course, argued that this was acceptable if by "possible" one meant "naturally possible." There is nothing inherent in nature essentially that predisposes one to sin. Sin cannot be attributed to a defective faculty. Rather, human beings are "morally incapable" of doing that which lies within their natural ability. With that distinction denied, the New Haven Divinity embraced Kant's "ought implies can" and Finney took that to mean that if God commands absolute perfection, it must be attainable by human beings according to their present condition.

Hodge responded to this aspect of Finney's work in the following manner: "It is merely a dictum of philosophers, not of common people that 'I ought, therefore I can.' Every unsophisticated heart and especially every heart burdened with a sense of sin says rather, 'I ought to be able, but I am not."

From the denial of original sin, Finney is free to move to a denial of the doctrine of supernatural regeneration. Like revival, regeneration itself was a gift of God, a "surprising work of God," according to the first Great Awakening. But for Finney, while the Holy Spirit exerted moral influences, "the actual turning...is the sinner's own act." The evangelist's most popular sermon, which he preached at Boston's Park Street Church, was titled, "Sinners Bound To Change Their Own Hearts." "There is nothing in religion beyond the ordinary powers of nature," Finney declared, rendering the charge of Pelagianism undeniable. "Religion is the work of man," he said. "It consists entirely in the right exercise of the powers of nature. It is just that and nothing else. When mankind become religious, they are not enabled to put forth exertions which they were unable before to put forth. They only exert powers which they had before, in a different way, and use them for the glory of God.

One notices the dominance of the mechanical and pragmatic view of the universe. It was, after all, the dawn of the Industrial Age and the human attempt to imitate Newtonian metaphysics by creating an ordered, predictable existence through mechanics and technology. The American pragmatic impulse that produced both Finney and James, and their respective heirs, could not have been more aptly expressed than the former's insistence upon revival depending on the correct techniques rather than on the sovereign freedom and grace of God.

In fact, what is already observable up to this point is that Finney's theology hardly requires God at all. It is an ethical system based on general self-evident principles that men and women can discover and follow if only they make that choice.
The next domino to fall in terms of the classical construction was the doctrine of the substitutionary atonement of Christ. The first thing one must note concerning the atonement, Finney insists, is that Christ could not have died for anyone else's sins other than his own. His obedience to the Law and his perfect righteousness were sufficient for his acceptance before God, but it is legally impossible and unjust to substitute one person on behalf of others. That Finney's entire theology is driven by a passion for moral improvement is seen on this very point

First, in answer to the question, "Does a Christian cease to be a Christian, whenever he commits a sin?", Finney was convinced that God required absolute perfection, but instead of that leading him to seek his perfect righteousness in Christ, he concluded that "...full present obedience is a condition of justification." Finney embraced a works-righteousness that exceeded the Counter-Reformation position, saying The doctrine of an imputed righteousness, or that Christ's obedience to the law was accounted as our obedience, is founded on a most false and nonsensical assumption, for Christ's righteousness could do no more than justify himself. It can never be imputed to us....

Such remarks led Warfield to conclude, "When Finney strenuously argues that God can accept as righteous no one who is not intrinsically righteous, it cannot be denied that he teaches a work-salvation, and has put man's own righteousness in the place occupied in the Reformation doctrine of justification by the righteousness of Christ." Finney understood the significance of his break and he also exhibited a surprising grasp of the the Reformation position. His denial is not the result of confusion, it seems, but was born out of careful reflection. Therefore, he went the entire distance to Pelagianism.

Informed of the notorious sinners in town before the meeting, Finney would pray publicly for these misguided strangers by name and even point them out in the meeting if they were present. It was high popular drama in an age without television, a combination of whodunit and situation comedy. Second, he would include in these public prayers the names of local clergy who were unsympathetic to the revivals, praying for their souls as if they were unconverted. Third, when Finney came to town, churches suspended their normal services and in their place the "protracted meeting" would occur nighly for a week or more. A fourth "new measure" is perhaps the most noted: the "anxious bench," a seat up front to which "seekers" and those "under conviction" might move as the meeting progressed. From this practice emerged the "altar call," the practice of calling forward those who were interested in "making a decision for Christ." However, even this innovation was not as controversial as the practice of encouraging women to "testify" in the meetings and even share in public prayer.