Justice for an Unregenerate Society, Not a Regenerate One

The Mosaic Law and Fallen Humanity

A recurring error in Christian discussions of law and society is the assumption that biblical law was designed primarily for a regenerate people. This assumption quietly reshapes the function of the law, turning it into a tool for cultivating inward righteousness rather than an instrument for restraining injustice and preserving social order.

Scripture itself resists this move.

Indeed, the principle of civil restraint appears in Scripture long before the Mosaic economy was established. Consider the word of the Lord to Noah after the flood:

“And for your lifeblood I will require a reckoning: from every beast I will require it and from man. From his fellow man I will require a reckoning for the life of man. Whoever sheds the blood of man, by man shall his blood be shed, for God made man in his own image.” (Genesis 9:5-6)

Here we find civil justice in its most fundamental form, the restraint of violence through proportionate penalty, established in the Noahic covenant, which predates Sinai by many centuries. This covenant was made not with a regenerate people, nor with a specially chosen nation, but with all humanity. The murderer’s heart is not the concern of this statute; his hand is. The law does not wait for repentance; it restrains violence and punishes transgression. From the very beginning, then, civil law was designed for fallen humanity, not for the sanctified.

In both Matthew 19:8 and Mark 10:5, Jesus explicitly teaches that certain Mosaic commandments were given “because of the hardness of your hearts.” Pause and consider what our Lord is saying. These laws were not accommodations to faithfulness, but to sin. They presupposed stubbornness, conflict, and moral failure–not spiritual maturity. Christ does not deny their legitimacy; rather, He locates their purpose within a fallen, unregenerate social context.

This observation is crucial for understanding the Mosaic economy as a just society. Israel was not a nation composed entirely (or even primarily) of regenerate individuals. Like every society since the fall, it was a mixed community, governed by law precisely because righteousness could not be assumed. The law addressed outward behavior, adjudicated disputes, restrained violence, and imposed penalties proportionate to real human wrongdoing. In this respect, it functioned as civil law, not as a mechanism of spiritual renewal.

The distinction matters. Civil justice does not require regenerate hearts; it requires clear standards, public accountability, and impartial enforcement. The Mosaic law repeatedly assumes false witnesses, marital breakdown, theft, negligence, and violence. It does not wait for repentance before acting. Instead, it establishes procedures and penalties that protect the innocent, restrain the wicked, and preserve order among a people who are, by default, morally unreliable.

The New Testament confirms this understanding of civil authority’s function. Paul’s teaching in Romans 13 is particularly instructive:

“For rulers are not a terror to good conduct, but to bad. Would you have no fear of the one who is in authority? Then do what is good, and you will receive his approval, for he is God’s servant for your good. But if you do wrong, be afraid, for he does not bear the sword in vain. For he is the servant of God, an avenger who carries out God’s wrath on the wrongdoer.” (Romans 13:3-4)

Notice carefully what Paul says civil authority is for. The ruler is “God’s servant,” but servant for what purpose? Not to regenerate hearts. Not to cultivate inward holiness. The ruler “bears the sword” and serves as “an avenger who carries out God’s wrath on the wrongdoer.” This is the language of restraint and punishment, not spiritual formation. The magistrate’s concern is outward conduct: terror to bad behavior, approval for good. Civil government, in the apostle’s teaching, presupposes a society that includes wrongdoers who must be restrained.

Peter confirms this same principle: “Be subject for the Lord’s sake to every human institution, whether it be to the emperor as supreme, or to governors as sent by him to punish those who do evil and to praise those who do good” (1 Peter 2:13-14). Once again, the function is restraint and commendation of external conduct, not the cultivation of saving faith.

The Law Is for the Lawless

A further confirmation of this principle appears elsewhere in the apostolic teaching of Paul. In 1 Timothy 1:9, he states with striking clarity:

“The law is not laid down for the just but for the lawless and disobedient, for the ungodly and sinners, for the unholy and profane, for those who strike their fathers and mothers, for murderers, the sexually immoral, men who practice homosexuality, enslavers, liars, perjurers, and whatever else is contrary to sound doctrine.”

Paul is not denigrating the law, nor is he restricting its relevance to a narrow category of ceremonial observance. Rather, he is articulating a fundamental truth about the audience and function of law as such: that it is “laid down for the lawless and disobedient.”

Law, in its civil and judicial sense, presupposes wrongdoing. It exists because human beings do not reliably do what is right. The “just” man does not need statutes to restrain him from theft, violence, or fraud; the law addresses those who must be restrained, corrected, and judged. Paul’s list that follows–murderers, the sexually immoral, liars, perjurers–reads not like a catalogue of hypothetical sins, but like a criminal code. It is precisely the kind of behavior the Mosaic law was designed to confront.

Notably, as Richard Barcellos has observed¹, Paul’s list implicitly follows the structure of the Decalogue itself.

This apostolic teaching aligns directly with Christ’s words regarding hardness of heart. Both assume the same anthropology: societies are composed of sinners, not saints. Justice, therefore, cannot be built on the expectation of inward renewal. It must be grounded in objective standards, enforceable rules, and public consequences for transgression. The law does not aim to regenerate; it aims to restrain, expose, and adjudicate.

Why This Matters for Philonomy

This distinction is essential for the philonomic project. If one expects the law only to function as a tool of sanctification, the Mosaic economy will inevitably appear harsh, excessive, or morally deficient. But if the law is understood as God’s provision for ordering life among the lawless and disobedient, its structure appears not only coherent, but merciful. It limits vengeance, standardizes penalties, protects the vulnerable, and constrains the power of both individuals and rulers.

In this light, the justice of the Mosaic economy does not depend on the righteousness of its citizens, but on the righteousness of its statutes. The law is just because it realistically addresses human sin, not because it assumes human virtue. Paul’s statement in 1 Timothy does not represent a departure from the Mosaic vision of justice; it confirms it. The law was always for the lawless–and that is precisely why it worked.

An Important Clarification: Designed For, Revealed To

At this point, a careful reader might object: “But surely the law was given to a covenant people, to Israel. Does this not suggest it was meant for the regenerate after all?”

We must be precise here, for much confusion arises from conflating two distinct questions. The law was indeed revealed to a covenant people; Israel received the Torah at Sinai as part of their unique relationship with God. But the law was designed for an unregenerate society; its civil and judicial provisions presuppose sinners who must be restrained, not saints who need only encouragement.

This distinction is not a clever evasion. It reflects the actual content of the legislation. The law addresses murderers, adulterers, thieves, false witnesses, and those who curse their parents. It establishes cities of refuge for those who kill accidentally, procedures for cases of jealousy and suspected adultery, and penalties for every manner of transgression. This is not the curriculum for a seminary of the sanctified; it is a realistic code for governing fallen humanity.

The law was revealed through Moses to Israel, but its moral logic applies to all humanity precisely because all humanity is fallen. The Noahic covenant, as we noted above, establishes this principle before Israel ever existed. What Sinai does is not introduce civil justice for the first time, but provide a fuller, more detailed elaboration of how justice operates in a national context.

This elaboration was necessary precisely because the scale of the community had changed. The requirements of justice expand as corporate bodies grow. When seventy souls descended into Egypt, a patriarch’s household justice sufficed. When a million people entered Canaan, the complexities of adjudication, property, testimony, and public order demanded a correspondingly detailed legal framework. The Mosaic case laws are not arbitrary additions to simpler moral principles; they are the necessary outworking of those principles in a national context where disputes between strangers, competing property claims, and the administration of penalties require institutional structures that a family or tribe never needed. The covenant people received this revelation, but the wisdom it contains speaks to the human condition as such.

But What About Psalm 119?

Someone may press further: “If law was designed for the unregenerate, why does Psalm 119 celebrate the righteous delighting in God’s law? Surely this suggests the law has a higher purpose for the godly.”

Indeed it does, and this is entirely consistent with our argument. We are distinguishing between the civil and judicial function of the law (restraint of sin in society) and the devotional and instructional function of the law (guidance for the godly in righteousness). These functions are not opposed; they are complementary.²

The psalmist who cries, “Oh how I love your law! It is my meditation all the day” (Psalm 119:97), is not merely engaged in abstract contemplation divorced from the messiness of life. He goes on to declare, “Your commandment makes me wiser than my enemies, for it is ever with me. I have more understanding than all my teachers, for your testimonies are my meditation” (Psalm 119:98-99). Do you see it, dear ones? This meditation yields wisdom: practical, situational, real-world wisdom. The same Torah that reveals God’s holiness also instructs the soul in how to navigate a thousand situations the text never explicitly addresses. When the psalmist meditates on laws concerning property boundaries, he learns something of God’s care for justice and order that shapes how he conducts his own business dealings. When he ponders the statutes protecting the vulnerable, he gains wisdom for how he treats the widow next door. The law is indeed God’s revelation of His character (His justice, His holiness, His care for the weak, His hatred of oppression), and precisely because it reveals who God is, it becomes an inexhaustible well of counsel for how we should live.

This is why we must never reduce the law to a mere criminal code, as if its statutes were useful only for courts and magistrates. The law is God’s revelation of His character: His justice, His holiness, His care for the vulnerable, His hatred of oppression. The regenerate heart delights in this revelation and drinks deeply from its wisdom. Here we find guidance for countless situations through principles that teach us to think as God thinks, precisely because we are imitating the God whom we love. But the civil application of that law in society does not depend on such delight; it restrains sinners regardless of their disposition toward the Lawgiver.

Paul himself makes a similar distinction when he notes that the law serves as “our guardian until Christ came” (Galatians 3:24). The pedagogical function of the law (teaching us our need for Christ, showing us the standard we cannot meet) is distinct from the civil function, though both are real and legitimate. The law drives us to Christ even as it restrains sin in society. These purposes harmonize; they do not compete.

A Note on Covenant Theology

The Mosaic law’s failure to regenerate was not a defect but a design feature. The law was never intended to save: “For if a law had been given that could give life, then righteousness would indeed be by the law” (Galatians 3:21). Its purpose was to reveal sin, restrain wickedness, and point forward to the One who would fulfill what the law could only demand.

This is why philonomy can affirm the continuing relevance of the law’s moral substance while acknowledging that the Mosaic covenant itself has passed away. The form was temporary; the wisdom is eternal. The national covenant with Israel has expired; the God whose character shaped that covenant has not changed. What we seek in the Mosaic case laws is not the reimposition of a defunct covenant but the discernment of moral wisdom that transcends any particular covenant administration.

For readers interested in the covenantal framework underlying this argument, particularly from a 1689 Federalist perspective, see Appendix D: Philonomy and Covenant Theology.

The Foundation of Philonomy

The Mosaic economy, then, must be interpreted as a system designed for an unregenerate society under divine governance, not as an idealized community of the sanctified. Once this is understood, many objections to the law dissolve. Laws concerning divorce, restitution, corporal punishment, and capital penalties no longer appear as ethical failures, but as realistic provisions for justice in a fallen world.

Philonomy begins here. If we misunderstand the audience of the law, we will misunderstand its purpose. A law designed to restrain sin among the unregenerate will necessarily differ from rules governing the internal life of the church or the ethical aspirations of individual believers. Confusing these categories leads either to legalism or to antinomianism–often both at once.

The Mosaic economy was not unjust because it accounted for hardness of heart.

It was just because it did.

See Richard C. Barcellos, In Defense of the Decalogue: A Critique of New Covenant Theology (Enumclaw, WA: Winepress Publishing, 2001), for a thorough treatment of Paul’s use of the Decalogue structure in his epistles. The sequence “ungodly and sinners, unholy and profane” echoes the First Table’s concern with right worship and reverence for God; “those who strike their fathers and mothers” corresponds to the Fifth Commandment; “murderers” to the Sixth; “the sexually immoral, men who practice homosexuality” to the Seventh; and “enslavers, liars, perjurers” to the Eighth and Ninth. Paul is not randomly selecting sins; he is cataloguing violations of God’s moral law in its own revealed order. This reinforces our point: the law Paul describes was given for sinners precisely because it addresses the full range of human transgression against both God and neighbor. ↩
The Reformed tradition has historically recognized three “uses” of the law: the usus elenchticus (convicting use, which exposes sin and drives us to Christ), the usus politicus (civil use, which restrains evil in society), and the usus didacticus or tertius usus legis (the third use, which guides the regenerate in godly living). Our argument in this chapter emphasizes the second use, while the Psalm 119 objection appeals to the third. Both are legitimate; confusing them produces the errors we are seeking to avoid. ↩